


And They Were Roommates!

by bogman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogman/pseuds/bogman
Summary: Gendry isn't really sure what he expected when he agreed to help set up Theon and Sansa, but he does know that Arya's plan is getting out of hand.





	1. In Which the Band is Bad

**Author's Note:**

> hi! first fic, so it will definitely be a bit of a mess, haha. just wanted to dabble in some arya/gendry because i love those crazy kids. enjoy!!! :)

Arya Stark was slowly but surely losing her grip on reality.

It was bloody torturous, sitting at a rickety table as Jon and Sam talked about some stupid thing only literature students would care about, deeply pretentious and entirely unnecessary.

“But don’t you think the flower symbolizes her emotional journey?” Sam asked, nursing a pint. Arya had suggested shots earlier, but no one had wanted to do them with her.

Jon cocked his head slightly. “Well, I think it’s more than that, you know…” he began, starting a long and overly complex analysis of the fucking flower. Again. Gods, Arya longed to stand up and release the feral scream of frustration building inside her.

And then there was the band. Arya had suspected that any band consisting of Jon’s friends would be painful, especially considering how insistent he had been that she come along to fill the crowd, but still nothing could have prepared her for tonight. Men of the Night’s Watch was, to put it kindly, ear-bleedingly terrible. To put it honestly, Arya suspected the experience was worse than being boiled alive in yellow Gatorade, while being forced to watch episodes of House Hunters on an endless loop. The lyrics were melodramatic, the chord progressions questionable, the musical execution downright bad, and to top it all off, Grenn had fallen off the stage in the middle of the first song. It would have been entertaining if it just weren't so bad.

When Sam chimed in about possible interpretations of the flower for a third time, Arya lost her last bit of patience. “I’m going to get a drink,” she said, standing before she exploded. There were some things that Arya could not sit through, and one of them was hearing someone explain how a flower symbolized a weapon of the bourgeoisie.

She sighed, wandering towards the bar, wallowing in immature self pity, and also hating herself for doing it. She could have been back at her dorm, spending her Saturday night enveloped in a blanket burrito, ridiculously high, and cackling over Monty Python with Shireen. But no. She was here, in a shitty bar that looked like an open crime scene, except not in a fun, murdery sort of way, but more of a depressing statement on human misery sort of way. It was grubby, dimly lit and old, with sticky spots on the floor that Arya had no interest in investigating further. The lamp fixture in the back flickered ominously over an unused pool table, also grubby and sad.

She slid onto a green vinyl stool (strangely damp, of course), and leaned forward on her elbows to catch the bartender’s attention.

“Can I get a beer?” she asked. “I don’t care what kind, long as it gets me drunk.”

The bartender turned to her as he cleaned out a glass, raising his dark eyebrows. He was broad shouldered, muscular and grizzled in the way Arya might expect from this sort of bar, though the small smile that crossed his face seemed open and unintimidating.

“That’s the right attitude for a great night,” he deadpanned, pouring her a pint.

“I personally think it’s the only sane decision to reach while listening to this,” Arya replied darkly.

He handed her the glass, smirking. “Not a fan?”

“Is that even a question?” Arya shot back, gratefully taking a large swig of her drink.

He shrugged. “Believe it or not, they used to be worse.”

Arya made a face of disgust. “Not possible,” she declared. “Did you even hear the one where toilet paper was a metaphor for Pyp’s ex?”

“That’s what that one is about?”

“That’s what they’re all about.”

The bartender snorted. “Suppose you’re right about that.”

Arya shrugged. “I’m right about most things,” she said casually.

Her new acquaintance laughed. “You’ve got wonder what went down with that girl, though.”

“She probably just got sick of his intense sad boi vibes. He looks like one of the idiots from the 1975,” Arya supplied.

Her companion peered out from behind the counter for a closer look at Pyp warbling on stage, this time about his sock sliding down in his shoe. “Wow. That’s exactly what he looks like.”

“I know!” Arya said emphatically.

“He also kinda looks like he crawled out of a coming of age movie where he smokes a lot of weed.”

“Oh definitely. He smokes weed and then meets a girl who’s way more interesting than him, and yet is never developed beyond helping him grow.”

“All to the soundtrack of songs about toilet paper exes and socks, apparently,” he finished. They grinned at each other conspiratorially.

“I’m Gendry, by the way,” he added, shifting uncomfortably as he ran a hand through his hair. “Y’know, just so we get it out of the way before it gets all awkward.”

“Before what gets awkward?”

“I don’t know—talking, I guess?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

“Y’know, usually when someone introduces themselves, you introduce yourself back.”

Arya sighed heavily, as if providing her name was a burden too great to bear. “Arya,” she offered, with no further pomp. “Now are you working or not? I want another drink.”

“You’re not done with one.” Gendry pointed to Arya’s pint, still half full.

In response, she took another large gulp, and grimaced. Arya had never been a big fan of beer, and this brand, whatever it was, tasted particularly gross.

Gendry leaned back, smirking as he watched. “Slow down,” he advised, and Arya rolled her eyes.

“Oh fuck off,” she snapped, purposely chugging the rest to be contrary. Arya had always resented the way everyone assumed she was a lightweight based on her short stature. Annoyingly, she was, but the mixture of pride and intense competitiveness usually won out in these situations. It had gotten her into a lot of trouble last year during her gap year in Braavos.

Unfazed, Gendry laughed. “Right, that was pretty impressive.”

“Do you tell all your customers to slow down on their first beer?” Arya pressed, ignoring his compliment, her jaw set stubbornly.

“Not all my customers are 90 pound girls.”

Arya scowled at him. “I’m not 90 pounds.” Then, “I bet I could drink you under the table.”

“Bet you couldn’t.” He held back a smile.

“Fine.” Arya folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward on the counter. “Let’s do it.”

Gendry chuckled. “Lucky for you,” he said, “I’m in the middle of a shift. It’s generally frowned upon to drink at work.”

Arya raised a single brow. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“Trust me,” Gendry said, beginning to mix a drink, “there’s nothing I’d rather do than have a drinking contest with a—“ He paused. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Arya supplied.

“Well there’s nothing I’d rather do than have a drinking contest with a nineteen year old girl who won’t leave me alone, but unfortunately I need to keep this job to pay the bills.” He slid the drink he’d been making over to Arya.

She examined it. It was green and carbonated, with a tiny paper umbrella and cherry for decoration. “What is this?” she asked, making a face.

“I call it wildfyre. It’ll definitely get you drunk.”

“It looks stupid.”

He shrugged. “Don’t drink it then.”

Hesitantly, Arya took a sip. It was sweet enough for her to stomach the harsh taste of the liquor easily, bubbly and difficult to place, but indisputably good. “Not bad. For a drink with an umbrella.”

Gendry looked at her sternly. “You got something against paper umbrellas?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “They’re tacky.”

“They’re whimsical!”

“For gods sake, we’re not on a tropical island!”

“Consider this,” Gendry proposed, assuming the stance of someone on an infomercial selling high quality knives. “Using a paper umbrella makes you feel like you’re on a tropical island.”

Arya gave him a blank stare. “Why would I want to be on a tropical island.”

“Why would you not?”

“Too hot, there’s bugs, lots of drinks with paper umbrellas,” she said, counting out the reasons on her hand with an affect of flat condescension.

“So you’d rather be here, bothering me and listening to the caterwauling about broken dreams and cell phone chargers?”

Arya bit her lip and remained silent, unwilling to admit defeat. “Still think that tropical islands are overrated,” she grumbled.

They continued like that for a while longer—the back and forth, all the while Arya slowly drained her glass. She wasn’t quite drunk, but tipsy enough to blurt out whatever popped into her mind while they talked. Gendry was funny, dry and quick, though not quite as quick as Arya.

“Are you going to pay for your drinks?” Gendry asked, gesturing to the empty glasses in front of her.

“My brother is,” Arya declared, satisfied with punishing Jon by making him fund her drunkenness. Gendry laughed, and Arya grinned in return.

“Your brother is what?” Jon asked, coming over and sliding onto the stool next to her with perfect timing. Apparently he and Sam had finally managed to resolve the debate about the flower.

“Paying for my drink,” Arya explained cheerfully. She glanced back at Gendry, smiling conspiratorially, but he was suddenly far more focused on cleaning out glasses behind the bar than chatting with Arya. He gave a weak smile in return, and Arya frowned momentarily, before shifting the direction of her gaze when Jon spoke.

“Am I now?” He seemed entirely oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, or ignoring it on purpose, Arya couldn’t quite tell. Either way, she was somewhat irritated that he had ruined a perfectly good bit of banter.

“It’s what you deserve, for taking me out here.” Arya’s tone came out more sullen than she meant for it to, her earlier annoyance seeping through.

Jon rolled his eyes. “And yet you complain that Sansa is dramatic.” He pulled out his wallet anyway, and left a bill on the table. “The set is almost over, and then we can leave.”

As soon as Jon walked away from the bar to find his friend across the room, Arya turned back to Gendry, narrowing her round grey eyes as she gave him the once-over. He really was very fit, strong without looking too beefy, and probably a foot taller than Arya.

“You would definitely beat Jon in a fight.”

Gendry widened his eyes in confusion. “What? Why would I fight your brother?”

Arya shrugged, supremely smug. “I wouldn’t know. Just thought I’d mention it since you looked so bloody nervous around him.”

Gendry’s mouth opened to say something, but Arya stood up abruptly before he could finish his thought. “See you around, Gendry.”

Arya spun on her heel and walked off to find her brother, feeling particularly badass.

“I’m ready to leave,” she informed Jon, coming up from behind.

“Polite people wait for conversations to end,” Jon said, pretending to be annoyed.

Sam waved them away. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promised.

While he and Jon exchanged their goodbyes, Arya glanced towards the bar counter. Gendry was still there, although he appeared to be catching up on the work he’d been neglecting while talking to Arya, wiping the wood down with a rag.

“Ready?” Jon asked, pulling Arya’s focus back to him. Arya inclined her head in agreement, and the pair began making their way outside.

The night air felt brisk but comfortable as she and Jon exited the building. Winter in Oldtown was mild, at least in Arya’s mind. Arya was used to the freezing cold of the North, where snow drifts could be 20 feet high, and your eyelashes frosted over if you spent too long outside. Jon was much the same, a northerner through and through, with the dark hair and long face to prove it. Despite the chill, he was happy to walk his sister back to her dorm in just the ratty jean jacket he always wore. Normally, Arya would have flat out refused to be babied in such a way, but as she so often did, Arya made an exception for Jon. Even with their five year age gap and the technical fact that Jon was her half-brother, Arya had always been closest to him of all their siblings. Jon looked more like Arya than her other four siblings combined, and whenever Arya had felt as she didn’t belong with her tall, outgoing, redheaded siblings, she had always found comfort in Jon, as had he.

Still, even as her favorite brother, Arya couldn’t help but complain about being escorted like a child.

“You don’t have to walk me,” Arya remarked. “I’ve been here for months now. Just as long as you, in fact. And I’m a faster runner, so if either of us is getting murdered, it’s you.”

Jon knew it was true. Arya and Jon had both arrived in the fall to study at Oldtown University, Jon to start his masters program in literature, and Arya to pursue her undergrad in archaeology and run cross country.

“That’s exactly why I came. To act as an easy target for murderers while you run away.”

“If you didn’t come along, I’d still be fast enough to run away, and you wouldn’t get killed in the process,” Arya pointed out. “Really, you’re resigning me to a life of survivor’s guilt when I make it and you don’t.”

“I suppose I must just be doing it for my ego, then,” Jon joked.

“It’s really quite rude of you,” Arya replied. “First dragging me out to listen to that, and then leaving me brotherless and despairing.”

“They used to be worse.” His words mirrored Gendry’s perfectly, and Arya imagined the look on Jon’s face was similar to that of a PTSD survivor having a flashback.

“That’s what Gendry said too.” Arya realized the implication of her statement too late.

“Gendry? That bartender?” She nodded reluctantly.

“You were talking to him for a fair amount of time,” Jon noted, raising his brows while he looked at his younger sister.

“Just chatting, not that it’s any of your business,” Arya said, giving Jon a pointed glance. There was nothing quite as irritating as her siblings grilling Arya about her love life. Sansa was usually the worst perpetrator, but occasionally it rubbed off on Jon.

“Robb told me to give you a whole speech if this sort of thing happened.”

Arya groaned. “Why on earth would you listen to anything Robb says? He thought Stuart Little was a real person.”

“Obviously, I’m not going to,” Jon said indignantly. “But you have to pretend I did, if he asks.”

“Maybe I’ll just shave off his ugly little mustache and tell him to stop trying to meddle in my life.”

Jon let out a laugh. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Arya said wistfully.

Jon moved back to the original subject tactlessly. “Your new friend seemed nice, at least.”

“I guess,” Arya admitted. “Annoying, but nice.”

Jon grinned. “Wonder why he was talking to you, then.”

Arya opened her mouth indignantly. “Hey!” she said, pushing her elbow into him. “I am a very friendly person.”

“Aye, a very friendly person who shoves her favorite brother,” Jon laughed. Before Arya could think of a fitting response, Jon continued. “And look! We’ve made it back without either of us getting murdered.” He proudly gestured to the brick building Arya lived in.

Arya rolled her eyes. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“G’night,” Jon said, pulling her into a hug before she could squirm away. “I’m sorry the music was so bad.”

“You should be,” Arya replied, although she wrapped her arms around him in return. Jon had always been a very huggy person, and Arya decidedly not, but she usually managed to make an exception for her favorite brother. His arms were familiar and warm, and when Arya leaned into his chest, he smelled like home—pine needles and cozy kitchens and old books.

“Don’t get murdered on the way home,” Arya murmured into his shoulder.

“Duly noted.”

And with that, they pulled away, Arya to enter her dorm building, and Jon to walk to his flat.


	2. In Which Theon Loses a Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i haven't been planning a plot for this at all, and i just kinda ran with this chapter, haha. also! my tumblr is mangopudding99 for anyone who is interested!

Arya was continually surprised by how much she liked her sister now.

As kids, she and Sansa had fought constantly, tooth and nail, over everything. It didn’t matter whether it was about choosing which Saturday morning cartoon to watch, or disagreeing on whether Sansa’s prattish friend deserved to be pushed in the mud, Arya and Sansa managed to turn anything into a full-on screaming match. Sansa would yell at Arya for being selfish and difficult, or embarrassing her in front of her friends, calling her “Arya Horseface” or other endearing nicknames. In turn, Arya would yell at Sansa for faking her niceness, criticize her shallow taste in friends, or more likely just kick her soundly.

It got better, gradually, when they were older. Maturity and distance could do wonders for a sibling relationship, but Arya had still never felt particularly close to her sister.

When Arya started at Oldtown in the fall though, Sansa had insisted on hosting Sunday night dinners at her new flat, and Arya had agreed out of the same politeness that had compelled Sansa to invite her. It had been awkward, admittedly, at first, but Arya found the whole endeavor to be a rather pleasant surprise. She genuinely enjoyed talking to Sansa, who usually came prepared with several outrageous stories about the ridiculous cast of characters that seemed to rotate in and out of her life, and who doled out sage advice that Arya generally ignored. She was the smartest person Arya knew, brave and ambitious and strong in a way totally different from Arya herself.

Arya usually saw Sansa several times a week, meeting for lunch or coffee, but on the occasions when they were both too busy, Sunday nights remained a constant. Tonight they were sprawled on Sansa’s sofa, an old blue one that just barely fit in her tiny flat. She lived alone—Sansa insisted she needed her own private space, and surprised everyone by falling in love with a dilapidated one-bedroom, which, Sansa being Sansa, she had managed to decorate in a way that made it look homey and comfortable.

“Sorry I didn’t actually cook anything,” Sansa sighed. Her auburn hair was frizzy and tangled around her, a rare sight. Sansa was usually the most put together person Arya knew. It wasn’t unprecedented for her to wear a Leslie Knope-esque pantsuit, giving her the vibe of a strict but kind-hearted governess, while still somehow managing to be stylish. It was a fine line, and boy did Sansa walk it well. At the moment, however, she was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt from their family vacation to Volantis a few years ago.

“If I’m being perfectly honest,” Sansa began, “I totally forgot you were coming over.”

Arya gasped theatrically, placing her free, non wine glass holding hand in front of her mouth. “Sansa Stark, forgetting about guests and forgetting to cook for them? Unheard of.”

Sansa slumped back, covering her face with her hands, and moaned through her manicured fingers. “I know. I’ve been so busy planning the advocacy event with Margaery, and figuring out my research thing with Tyrion Lannister for the summer, and there’s still so much schoolwork, and some friend of a friend asked me to tutor her brother, and I don’t know why I said yes…” she trailed off.

Arya thrust the bottle of wine at her sister. “You know what you should do? Cancel on someone. You’re doing too much.”

Sansa sat up to take it, and poured a healthy amount into her glass. “Probably, but it’s too late now.” She shrugged, changing the subject away from herself. “We can still try and make something. I’ve got pasta and…” She gestured her hands incoherently. “Sauces… or something, I don’t even know.”

“Or,” Arya raised a single eyebrow with a smile. “We could just order something. You know, instead of pretending that we’re responsible adults who cook.”

Sansa glared at her sister indignantly. “You, dear sister, may not be a responsible adult, but I am.”

“You just spilled wine on your shirt.”

“Fuck!” Sansa looked down at the small red stain in distress. She sighed. “I may be too drunk to be a responsible adult tonight.”

“Really?” Arya asked, smirking.

“Shut up.” Sansa fumbled around the cushions searching for her phone. “Do you want pizza or Yi-Tish?”

“Pizza,” Arya said, her mouth watering at the thought of greasy cheese and tomato sauce that almost burned her tongue.

Sansa nodded, the keyboard on her phone clicking as she typed in the details for their order. “So what’s new in the life of Arya Stark?” Sansa asked casually, only half paying attention to her sister.

“Jon’s friends are terrible at music, as expected.” Arya stared at the pale yellow wall absently, trying to think of other eventful things. “That weird girl keeps tagging along on my runs in the morning.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up. “Did she tell you her name yet?”

“No,” Arya said, frustration in her voice. “She keeps telling me to call her ‘The Waif’, though.”

“What is she, a soundcloud rapper?”

Arya threw her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know!”

“Gods, I want to meet her.”

“It can be your first case, or whatever. Lawyers solve mysteries sometimes, right?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s just in paperback novels.” Sansa said evenly, though Arya knew at this point that her tone was really code for “you’re an idiot, obviously not”.

“That’s stupid,” Arya remarked, decidedly ignoring Sansa’s derision. “Why are you becoming one again?”

“In the hopes of one day banging a gavel,” the redhead explained straight faced.

“Oh, understandable.” Arya tried to remain neutral, but snorted, sending the two sisters into a fit of laughter.

By the time they had recovered, neither one fully remembered what had sparked such hilarity. Arya was enjoying herself, though. The wine tasted like it cost eight dragons, but she was in stitches at Sansa’s impression of Margaery trying to wrangle volunteers for their upcoming event, flinging her hands dramatically, and bullying everyone into doing more than they had signed up for.

“She’s throwing a party next week,” Sansa said, looking at Arya hopefully. “You should stop by.”

“Not my scene.” On the few occasions when Arya had actually crossed paths with Sansa’s ridiculous best friend, she hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as Margaery for long without feeling as though she might go crazy, no matter how much she tried to like her for Sansa’s sake.

“Do it for me? Your dear, darling older sister who is buying you pizza?”

Arya screwed up her face and mulled it over. “I’ll think about it, but only because I want the free alcohol. Not because of our relationship.”

“Of course,” Sansa said solemnly, though the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile.

Sansa’s phone dinged. Somehow, despite starting over on her lap, it had migrated across the room by the kitchen.

Sansa stood. “I have to go to the bathroom. Can you check that? It’s probably about the pizza.”

Arya nodded, stretching as far as she could to grab the phone without actually moving from her comfy spot on the floor.

While Sansa exited the room, Arya resigned herself to walking, and glanced down at the notification. It wasn’t from the pizza guy.

Theon: sans, i did something stupid and i need help  
Theon: again  
Theon: i’m at your flat

Arya headed to the front door and opened it, Sansa’s phone still in her hand. As suspected, Theon Greyjoy stood on the other side, tall and lanky and covered in scratches. His right eye was puffy and nearly swollen shut, and his shoulders slumped forward like a man who had just lost his last bit of dignity.

“Seven hells, Theon, what the fuck did you do this time?”

“Interesting question. Not one that I particularly want to answer.” He gave a weak smile, though it did little to convince Arya to stop.

She stared at him. “Gods, you’re so fucking dumb sometimes.”

Theon winced. “I probably deserve that.”

“You definitely deserve that.”

“Look, can I just come in?”

Arya sighed, stepping out of the doorway to let him in. She called down the hall to Sansa. “Theon is here, and he says he needs your womanly touch to cure him of his injuries.”

“What?” Sansa yelled back, her voice muffled by the barrier of the bathroom door.

“That’s not what I said!” Theon cupped his hands and shouted. “Just to clarify!”

He sat down on the sofa while Arya stood over him. She raised an eyebrow. “Did you get in a fight with a cat?”

“No,” Theon said sullenly.

“Seagull?”

“No.”

“Kids scissors?”

“No.”

“Pine tree?”

“Maybe...”

Arya laughed, giggling uncontrollably while Theon sat sulking. “It’s not funny!”

“What’s not funny?” Sansa said, rushing in. Any sense of the clumsy, cluttered girl that Arya had been drinking with vanished, replaced by the unflappable and responsible side of Sansa.

“Theon lost a fight with a tree,” Arya supplied in between bouts of laughter.

“How?” Sansa asked incredulously.

“I was climbing it to catch Amelia Earhart,” Theon explained, as if it rationalized the whole thing.

“Who’s Amelia Earhart?” Sansa looked terribly confused, and the whole thing only set Arya off again.

“My pet sugar glider,” Theon said quietly.

“What?”

“It’s like a flying squirrel—“ he began, but Sansa cut him off, exasperated.

“I know what it is! You just don’t own one!”

“Well, I did. For a few minutes at least,” Theon insisted. “Then I lost her…” he trailed off.

“Who sold you a sugar glider?”

“My uncle,” Theon supplied reluctantly. He cringed as Sansa dabbed at his face imprecisely. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Theon you absolute idiot, I’m drunk! I can’t do this properly right now!”

“Also,” Sansa began, aggressively sticking the washcloth she had brought with her in the bowl of hot water. “Why were you with your uncle? He’s insane.”

“Do I look like someone who makes intelligent decisions? I don’t know.”

The pair continued bickering loudly. Theon Greyjoy had been Robb’s best friend when they were all children, but had slowly inserted himself in the lives of all the Starks, Sansa in particular. Even after Robb moved to King’s Landing for a job in marketing or finance (Arya refuses to remember which one on principle), Theon had remained a fixture in Oldtown. He was studying something, but Arya was pretty sure only Sansa knew what that was.

“No! You can’t train sugar gliders to carry messages for you! Who told you that?”

“The internet?”

“Oh my god, how did you get into this school? The internet is not always a reliable source of information!”

“They had pictures!” Theon proffered his phone to Sansa, and Arya peered over her shoulder. On it was a clearly photoshopped image of a flying squirrel with a roll of paper in between its legs.

“These are so fake. How could you possibly think they were real?” Sansa shook her head in disbelief.

“Because he’s dumb,” Arya offered, but Sansa shushed her.

“I don’t know,” Theon sighed, defeated. “They looked real at the time, I swear!”

Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “C’mon.” She held out a hand and pulled him up. “Let’s check these out in the bathroom.”

She glanced back at Arya as they made their way down the hall. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

“But I never got my pizza!” Arya whined.

Sansa gave her the signature older sister death stare, and Arya fell silent. Sansa might have been the only person whose authority Arya genuinely feared. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Sansa nodded, and Theon gave a half hearted wave.

Arya did her best to assemble her things scattered across the floor, and said her goodbyes from the doorway. “Sansa, you’re great, good luck with the event tomorrow. Theon, I don’t care about you.”

“Bye love!” Sansa waved, while Theon grumbled. “I don’t care about you either, y’know.”

Arya grinned and shut the door behind her. Sansa, at least, didn’t patronizingly walk her home.

By the time Arya made it back to the dorm, wobbling slightly, though decidedly still upright, Shireen was fast asleep at her desk. More often than not, Arya felt as though she saw her roommate passed out with her cheek pressed against a textbook, rather than in her bed.

Quietly, Arya shimmied into her pajamas, and slid under her covers. Her mind was still buzzing, a combination of alcohol and the excitement of Theon’s injury. She pulled out her phone.

Arya Stark: How’s Theon the treehugger?

Sansa Stark: Har har. He’s fine, but I’m going to let him sleep on my couch.

Arya Stark: You’re not out searching for his flying squirrel with him?

Sansa Stark: Gods, no. Amelia Earhart is following in the footsteps of her namesake.

Arya Stark: Wonder what Yara will say when he comes in for his shift tomorrow.

Sansa Stark: She might be meaner than you.

Arya Stark: As she should be.

Sansa Stark: Oh, leave him alone. He has lots of problems.

Arya Stark: Like believing he could start a flying squirrel mail service?

Sansa Stark: That was a little bit ridiculous, I will admit. Those photos were so fake. Also, did he honestly think he was competent enough to train them?

Arya Stark: Apparently so.

Sansa Stark: *sigh*  
Sansa Stark: I’m going to bed. Talk later?

Arya Stark: Yea, sure. ‘Night Sansa.

Sansa Stark: ‘Night Arya <3


	3. In Which a Copier is Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii sorry it took me forever to update, but i swear i was really busy graduating and traveling and such. pls enjoy and comment if ya like it, feedback is always appreciated :)

Gendry Waters was having a shit day.

It had begun with the mysterious disappearance of his lucky socks, the ones with dinosaurs on them, green and blue and wonderfully not-itchy, which might not have _seemed_ like a particularly terrible event, but only served as an omen for the things to come. He had later missed his bus, tripped trying to run after it, and had shown up late to work with a twisted ankle. Worse, while there, he’d spilled oil in his hair and spent close to an hour trying to clean it off, before eventually showing up to the class he TA’ed still smelling vaguely of gasoline. 

And now, while trying to make copies for the next lecture he had to teach, the machine had broken. Gendry liked to think that he was mechanically inclined, but no amount of button pushing and unjamming could coerce the thing to do what he wanted. 

 “Goddamn motherfucking piece of shit,” he cursed, kicking the machine in time with his frustrated chant. “Why won’t you fucking copy my fucking papers, I swear to the _fucking_ gods I’ll tear you to pieces with my own goddamn hands if you don’t work _right now_.”

The copier informed him that it was experiencing technical difficulties, and could not perform the action he requested. Moaning in defeat, he sat down on the floor to regain his composure.

“Please,” he begged, staring at the willfully disobedient machine that had broken his spirit. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, _work._ I’ll sell my soul if I have to, I just need you to—“

Gendry paused, noticing the figure who had crept up behind him. She was short and slender, though she carried herself with a confidence Gendry could only dream of possessing one day, and he realized with a start that it was the same woman he had been chatting with the other night at the bar. Of course it was, with his fucking luck. Of course the pretty girl with the smart mouth who had seemed to actually _like_ him was here to witness his lowest of all low moments: pleading with a copier machine in obvious distress.

He cleared his throat. “Hi. Sorry. Just got a little bit…”

“Carried away?” The girl raised a single, thick eyebrow, her mouth turned into a small smirk. Gods, she was enjoying this, her wide gray eyes dancing with amusement. 

This was torture, it really was. What had Gendry ever done to deserve such a deeply humiliating experience?

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he replied, trying to maintain the last scraps of his dignity. 

They drifted into an awkward silence, Gendry gazing up at her like an idiot and questioning how, exactly, he ended up in this situation. He couldn’t tell if she remembered him. She hadn’t given any hints to that effect, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to prompt her. Maybe he could just slink away without further discussion and leave it at that, even though some part of Gendry would be offended if she had actually forgotten him. He thought that they had been getting along well. 

She looked possibly prettier than he remembered, wearing jeans and a tank top in a nice shade of green that went with her eyes. Forest green, he thought, that was what it was called. 

“Are you just going to sit there and stare at me or…?”

Gendry snapped back into focus. “Oh! Sorry.” He stood quickly, and nearly whacked his head on the machine. The thing really had it out for him.

Arya laughed. “You’re the bartender with the paper umbrellas, right? Gendry?”

So she did remember. Gendry wasn’t sure if this was a win or not. 

“That I am.” She looked at him funny. “I mean, yup, I’m Gendry.” He paused, waiting for what seemed like the appropriate amount of time to think of her name, even though it had come to him right away. “You’re Arya, right?”

She nodded. “Do you usually make casual conversation with copiers?”

Gendry spluttered. “I wasn’t—I mean, I don’t…” He sighed. “Here, just try and see if you can get it to work.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to put her own paper in the machine. It was a flyer for something, Gendry couldn’t quite tell and he wasn’t sure if he should ask.

Arya glanced over the small green screen and hit a few things on the keypad. It didn’t work, and in fact began to make some horrible sounds that even Gendry hadn’t managed to set off. He knew that for both their sakes he should have been upset that it failed to function, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wasn’t insane. The thing really was broken, and if it was holding a grudge against its users, it did so indiscriminately.

“Fuck,” she swore, once it had finally quieted down. “Well, I personally have no idea what’s wrong with it.” She turned to him with a smirk. “Maybe you should try talking to it again.”

“To be honest, I think talking only upset him more. He wasn’t making those sounds before.”

“He?”

“He seems like a ‘he’. Very arrogant copier, this one.”

Arya grinned. “We can call him Joffrey, then.”

“Who’s that?"

“My sister’s shithead ex.”

“Ah,” Gendry said, nodding. “Seems appropriate.”

“It is.” She paused. “How long were you trying to get Joffrey to work?”

Gendry grimaced and peered at his watch. “About… 20 minutes.” 

“That bastard,” Arya said, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be making a bunch of these as a favor for my brother.”

“The one I met?” 

 “The one and the same,” she said with a small smile. “Still think you could beat him up.”

“I really don’t want to beat up your brother, I don’t know why you keep bringing it up.”

Arya shrugged. “I think my reasoning is pretty clear.” 

Before Gendry could interrupt to ask, what, exactly, that reasoning was, she started talking again. “Jon’s friend is moving out, and him and his housemates are looking for someone new to move in. Any interest in living with two literature grad students?”

“Are you asking for real?” Gendry’s lease was up at the end of the month, and he had been debating whether to stay. If Arya’s brother’s place was nice, he might actually consider it. Gods knew his current place was a shithole, and he didn’t really mind a few new roommates.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Course I’m asking for real. It’d make my life a lot easier if you just moved in and I didn’t have to copy all these flyers.”

“Right then, give me the flyer. I can call your brother later.” He held out his hand, but Arya pulled the sheet away from his reach.

“I’m not just going to give you my only copy. Give me your number and I can text you the information.”

Her face betrayed nothing, but Gendry thought they might be flirting. “Ok,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Ok…” she said, looking at him strangely. Perhaps he hadn’t come across as nonchalant as intended. “Are you giving me the number, or what?”

“Right, right.” Gendry rattled his off, and Arya entered it into her own phone. 

“I’ll send you the stuff later then,” she said, turning to leave. 

“Thanks,” he called after her. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Arya sent him a real smile, one without a hint of mockery, before exiting the room.

Shit, she was cool.

***

 **Unknown** : hey it’s arya 

 **Unknown** : here’s a pic of the flyer info

 **Unknown** : if you’re interested jon says to meet him at iron-brewed coffee tomorrow at 10

 **Gendry** : Great, thanks!

 **Gendry** : Tell him I’ll be there. Iron-brewed is my go to spot anyway, so it won’t be out of my way at all, haha

 **Arya** : their chai latte fucks so hard

 **Gendry** : You drink chai lattes??

 **Arya** : tf is wrong with a chai latte

 **Gendry** : Idk you just seem like the kind of person who only drinks black coffee and makes fun of anyone who doesn’t for being weak

 **Arya** : there’s nothing weak about chai lattes

 **Arya** : people who think that drinking straight black coffee makes them strong are weak

 **Gendry** : Hmmmm

 **Gendry** : Why do you have beef with paper umbrella drinks then?

 **Gendry** : Isn’t that like the alcohol equivalent of a latte?

 **Arya** : no it’s totally different

 **Arya** : i never said the umbrellas were weak, i said they were stupid. if you’re not on a tropical island, why would you bother with one?

 **Gendry** : Bc they’re fun!!

 **Arya** : they’re not that fun

 **Arya** : They’re entertaining for like,,,,a minute max

 **Gendry** : But you admit they’re fun

 **Gendry** : Unrelated thought, chai lattes are stupid

 **Arya** : take it back

 **Arya:** i’ll tell yara and she’ll never let you in her establishment again

 **Gendry** : I’m friends with her brother, he’ll sneak me things

 **Arya** : you’re friends with theon??

 **Arya** : lol to think that theon could ever sneak something past yara

 **Gendry** : Wait YOU know Theon?

 **Gendry** : And honestly fair point I take back my insult. Yara is far too scary to cross

 **Arya** : HA 

 **Arya** : but yea i know theon. he’s an idiot

 **Gendry** : I would defend him but he’s all beat up from falling out of a tree right now so…

 **Arya** : lmao he came over to my sister’s after it happened 

 **Gendry** : Is your sister named Sansa?

 **Arya** : yup

 **Gendry** : He’s been pining after her the entire time I’ve known him

 **Arya** : wait what? i didn’t know that

 **Arya** : i mean, i had my hunches

 **Arya** : he’s pretty obvious about it actually 

 **Arya** : i’ve been waiting for them to get together all year

 **Gendry** : I haven’t met your sister yet so I kinda wasn’t sure whether it was just one sided 

 **Gendry** : Good to know Theon wasn’t delusional

 **Arya** : i mean he is but in this case i’m p sure sansa likes him

 **Arya** : we should set them up together

 **Gendry** : Absolutely not. It’s going to go terribly and I don’t want to be involved in the drama

 **Arya** : eh it’ll be fine

 **Arya** : i’ll text you about it more when i have a plan

 **Gendry** : Wait Arya no

 **Arya** : byeee ;-)

 **Gendry** : Just reiterating that I am not involved in whatever you’re planning in any capacity

 **Gendry** : Also, bye. 

***

Gendry lingered around Iron-brewed after he finished talking to Jon the next day. The housing situation seemed close to perfect—it was his own room in a rambling old building complete with a large kitchen and a small backyard. Jon had seemed perfectly nice, and Gendry suspected that he probably had fairly good taste in roommates as well. Best of all, it was cheap, barely more than his current studio apartment with its leaky pipes and noisy upstairs neighbors. 

Iron-brewed had been crowded, when Gendry first arrived; the cozy cafe was popular among both the student and faculty populations of Oldtown, with its wide armchairs and lighthouse paintings adorning the wall, but business had hit a midmorning lull. Theon was working behind the counter, leaving him plenty of time to chat with Gendry.

“Can’t believe Jon met about letting you in on their rooming situation before me,” Theon said sullenly. He always looked a bit ridiculous when he got in a sulk, but today it was especially true, his black eye and cut up face something out of a bad horror movie. 

“Don’t you have really cheap rent upstairs because of your sister?” Gendry asked. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Theon was always happy to mention how dirt cheap his rent was thanks to Yara’s generosity, unless he was in fight with Yara, in which case his situation was terrible.

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Theon insisted. “Someone could have asked if I was interested anyway.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally, mate,” Gendry said evenly. “He only met with me because Arya asked if I was interested.”

Theon sighed. “Arya hates me. And since when are you two friends?” 

“Since like, two days ago. I wouldn’t call us friends exactly, not yet at least.” Gendry paused. “I don’t think Arya hates you, by the way. I think she’s just like that.”

“I know, but I’m honestly still a bit scared of her. Did you know she got into a fight during her gap year? Like, going to the hospital kind of fight?”

“Hello, Theon.” Arya walked into the cafe with a tinkle of the bell, and a redhead Gendry assumed to be her sister Sansa followed right behind her.

“Seven hells,” Theon groaned. “Did you hear what I was saying?”

“No,” Arya screwed up her face in confusion. “What were you saying?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he replied, flinging his hands in the air to proclaim innocence. “Gendry can confirm.”

It was only then that Arya and her sister noticed him hanging around the counter. “What was he saying?” she demanded. “Also, are you moving in with Jon?’

“Can’t speak to the first one, but yeah, I think I am.” 

Arya narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth as if to interrogate him about Theon’s speech patterns further, but thankfully Sansa interrupted, throwing her hand out to shake. “I’m Sansa, you must be Gendry,” she said, smiling.

Gendry could see why Theon was so enamored with her. Sansa was beautiful, but by no means delicate. She was clearly sharp enough to handle her sister and Theon combined, and her smile was the well-practiced one of a politician, charming and meant to accomplish things. Like, for instance, diffusing the tension to prevent her sister from wheedling Theon’s earlier comments out of one of them.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied sincerely. “Theon’s said about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope,” she deadpanned, with a pointed glance at Theon.

Gendry laughed. “Of course.”

“Right,” Arya began. “But the important thing is what he was saying before we got in, when—”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Arya, I’m sure it wasn’t that important.” She looked at Gendry as if to apologize for Arya's insistence, then breezed on to the next thing she wanted to say. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other if you're living with Jon."

"Yeah, for sure," Gendry agreed. "And we also now know we have a mutual friend," he added, jabbing a finger in Theon's direction.

Sansa grinned. "Of course."

Frowning, she took a closer look at Theon, apparently distracted from her exchange with Gendry.

"Your eye looks terrible," she commented, making her way over to Theon.

"It's not that bad."

By now Sansa had grabbed his wrist, examining all his cuts and bruises from the calamity days before.

“Ow!" he complained, yanking his arm away. "Sansa, what are you doing?”

“I’m checking to make sure they’re all healing right, calm down.”

“I’m not five!”

“And yet you fell out of a tree. I hardly think you’re in the position to cry maturity.”

The pair continued bickering, and Arya sidled up to Gendry. “This is why we need a scheme,” she whispered. “This is what I have to deal with _all the time_.”

Gendry sighed. “Why can’t you just do it yourself?”

“Why don’t you want to help?”

“I already told you, it’s going to fail miserably and I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“I have never once tried to set people up and failed,” Arya declared confidently, giving Gendry a stern glance. 

He paused, looking at her intensely. “Have you ever tried to set people up before?”

Arya sighed. “No, of course not.”

Gendry glanced back at the couple to be. Sansa had bullied Theon into letting her put on new band aids, although now he was objecting to the hello-kitty design on the ones that Sansa had. It did seem a bit ridiculous that they hadn’t just hooked up yet. Theon was usually so rash about everything. He had convinced himself that he could start a sugar glider message system, for gods sake. Maybe it wouldn’t be completely terrible to just hurry things along.

And, admittedly, a small part of Gendry liked the idea of an excuse to spend more time with Arya. He would, however, keep things strictly platonic between the two of them, having recently decided that it was in poor taste to have romantic feelings for his roommate’s little sister, who was probably too smart and too young and too pretty for him anyway.

“Fine,” Gendry said, resigned. “I’ll help you with your stupid scheme.”

“Good,” Arya said, grinning. “We can start right now, if they’re out of earshot. I just need a chai latte first.”


	4. In Which Arya Wants Lucky Charms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i'm not sure how i feel about the beginning of this chapter, but i'm hopeful it gets funnier by the end lol. 
> 
> i also just want to say thanks so much to everyone who left kudos and comments!! it truly makes my day and motivates me to write, you guys are all great :)

Arya had always liked running, though she was never quite sure when she realized that it was the running itself she liked, and not just its helpfulness in causing mayhem and evading capture by adults or a sister who wanted to scold her. She supposed it was probably around the same time she had started challenging every family member to race her, all the time. Rickon was always too little, her father always begged off on account of his knee, and Sansa always said no, but it still left enough opponents to keep Arya occupied.

 Her mother was the least fun because she always let Arya win, even when Arya told her not to. Bran was slightly more exciting; he was fairly quick, but younger, and Arya would beat him easily enough. He was always more interested in climbing things anyway.

By far, the best opponents were Jon and Robb. They were taller and older and never patronized her with a win, instead letting Arya fail over and over again. Looking back, it had probably been fairly amusing for them, beating a little sister who never really seemed dissuaded by her poor track record. Every time, Arya began the race with the fierce hope that, finally, this time, she would be victorious, no matter how much shorter or younger she was.

It took until the summer she turned 16 to finally win a mad dash across the grounds of Winterfell, after she had half-jokingly suggested it to her older brothers. Jon had shaken off the loss good-naturedly, but Robb had been left speechless and beet red from the combination of exertion and shock. It was, in Arya’s mind, still one of the funniest things she had ever seen, and she brought it up with him as frequently as possible, much to Robb’s chagrin.

But besides the thrill of beating her brothers (among many others), Arya enjoyed running for the sake of running. It was almost like meditation, except she could still move around and do something, unlike the ones Jon and Sansa always invited her to do with them, where you sat down with your eyes closed until you’d rather blow your brains out than sit still for one more second. Running gave her time to think, but it also exhausted her to the point that she couldn’t think about anything but her breath and her pumping legs, which Arya personally thought was a much more efficient way to clear her mind than imagining a treehouse in a dark room.

Oldtown had been strange to run in, at first. Unlike Winterfell, there were no winding trails through the woods, and instead Arya was forced to contend with paved paths through the city streets and along the coastline.

And then there were the people. 

Arya had been friends, good friends, with most people who did cross country with her in high school, but she never ran _with_ them. She was always up front, alone, the way she preferred. 

This year, however, Arya had been forced to deal with the Waif, the aggressively odd and intense girl who always ran alongside her. Arya was never sure why she bothered; she was clearly faster, and always surpassed Arya at the last minute with relative ease. She was infuriating and strange and wouldn’t tell Arya the most basic of information about herself, including her name, but somehow Arya found herself in a friendship of sorts with the girl. The Waif always tagged along on runs with Arya, and she almost appreciated the company.

The girl was already waiting outside Arya’s building when she came downstairs, her blonde hair pulled back tightly in a bun, and her expression blank.

“You’re late,” she commented, with an odd tone that combined contempt and abject disinterest. Arya hadn’t even known that was possible until they had met. 

“We never set a time. You just showed up where I live,” Arya pointed out, hastily putting her hair back. It was the same conversation they always had. To complete the ritual, Arya asked a few questions that would never be answered. “How’d you know I was going on a run anyways?”

The Waif shrugged. “Not important.”

Arya rolled her eyes. It wasn’t worth the effort to argue. “As unimportant as me knowing your name?” she asked, dryly, assuming her companion would miss the sarcasm, as per usual. 

“Yes.” Arya’s guess had been right. Holding back a laugh, she started to jog, and without another word, the Waif followed her, as she always did.

They didn’t speak for a long time, instead letting the rhythmic sounds of their own breath fill the silence, feet hitting the pavement in the background. Arya always made for the coastline path as soon as possible when going on runs; she hated getting stuck behind slow walkers or stopped by traffic lights in the city. The view was far prettier anyway, overlooking the ocean and all the strange rock formations that bordered it. 

Arya had to admit that the Waif was a good running partner. She hadn’t seen the point of them, in the past, but it helped when there was someone setting a slightly faster pace right next to you. The Waif pushed her to be better, in her own irritating way.

By the time they had looped back to campus, Arya was exhausted, and sat down in the grass, panting. Her face was red and sticky with sweat, while her companion looked exactly the same as she had before they left. 

“You’re getting better, but you’re still slow,” the Waif remarked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And as abruptly as she appeared earlier, the Waif turned to walk away.

“Bye,” Arya replied, unfocused. She was too used to the constant commentary on her speed to even register the slight, and remained seated on the lawn in an attempt to catch her breath. The morning dew felt good on the back of her neck, and she let her legs splay out in front of her, not unlike a starfish.

“Well, well, well, someone must have had a wild night.” Arya lifted her head slightly for the unpleasant surprise of Theon Greyjoy’s face, looming above her. He wore a cocky smile, or as cocky as someone whose face was still recovering from a fight with a tree could look. 

Arya sat up quickly. “I just finished a run, you idiot,” she scoffed, standing up and wiping stray pieces of grass from her hair. “Some of us are actually productive in the morning.”

“I’ve been incredibly productive, actually,” Theon informed her. “I’ve been studying all morning.”

Arya made a face. “For what? What are you even in grad school for?” Theon opened his mouth to reply, but Arya cut him off. “You know what—I don’t even care.”

“Are you this mean to everyone or do you just hate me?”

Arya rolled her eyes and started to walk. “Theon, I don’t particularly have the time or inclination to deal with your intense desire for others to like you. Please see a therapist.”

He sped up to keep pace. “Is that a yes or no or...?” he trailed off, looking at her anxiously. “Where are you going, anyway?”

Arya sighed. “To Jon’s. He has better cereal. Shireen and I just ran out of lucky charms.”

Theon nodded solemnly. “Been there before.” Unprompted, he continued, rambling. “I’m headed to your sister’s place. Her sink just broke and one time Yara showed me how to fix one, so I told her I thought I could figure it out, but now I actually don’t remember completely, so I might just have to improvise. Unrelated question, do you know how to fix a broken sink?”

“Broken in what way, Theon?” Arya probed. She figured he had no idea, considering the qualifications he had just listed off, but it was entertaining to hear his muddled reactions to these sorts of questions.

“The not working kind of way?” He smiled unconvincingly. 

“Please don’t flood my sister’s apartment,” Arya replied wearily.

“I’m not going to! Ye of little faith.” He shook his head in disappointment.

“Theon, my sister is not going to hook up with you after you fuck up her sink. I’m just telling you now,” Arya said evenly, watching as Theon squirmed more with every word.

“Don’t know _what_ you’re implying—“

“You’ve been mooning over her for _months_.”

Theon sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “For the record, I don’t want to hook up with her, I want to date her.”

Arya smirked. “Either way, don’t fuck up her sink. Just tell her how you feel.”

“Is this genuine advice? I can’t read you at all.”

“No, I actually meant you should fuck up her sink—yes, it’s genuine advice, you moron.”

“Just checking.” They continued walking in silence for a moment. “Why, exactly, are you giving me genuine advice?”

Arya sighed, speaking reluctantly as if it was physically painful to say. “Because I don’t hate you, and I think you and Sansa would be good for each other.”

“Oh.” Theon’s eyebrows shot straight up, and he grinned. “Cool beans.”

Arya made a face. “Gods Theon, I was being nice to you! Why’d you have to say cool beans like that?” She turned to him, exasperated.

“What’s wrong with cool beans?” he asked in complete innocence, apparently stunned at her disapproval.

“Everything. I don’t even know where to start.”

They both stopped, having reached the corner of Sansa’s block. Theon shrugged. “Suppose I’m sorry for saying cool beans then, even though I’m still not sure why.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Thank you. Apology accepted.”

“I’ll try not to fuck up any sinks.”

“You do that, Theon.” Arya allowed herself a small smile, which he immediately reciprocated, dopey and sincere. 

He was definitely going to fuck up Sansa’s sink. 

***

Jon’s house was busy, much to Arya’s chagrin. She had hoped to waltz in and grab some lucky charms, maybe eggs if Jon wasn’t working on anything important and took pity on her, but instead she found one of those rentable trucks parked outside, and boxes being brought inside by Jon’s roommates. Gendry must have been moving in.

Pyp noticed her over the top of a box so overfilled with books it hadn’t been taped closed. “Hey Arya. Are you here to help?”

Arya froze. She couldn’t exactly announce her intentions to steal their cereal because she didn’t feel like buying more, but Arya also had little interest in spending another hour or two carrying heavy things up the stairs. “I can grab a box or two,” she offered reluctantly.

If Pyp could pick up on her hesitation, he didn’t show it. “Thanks,” he said brightly. “Jon’s upstairs with Gendry, if you came to say hi.” 

“Suppose I might say something to him,” Arya remarked, grinning at Pyp. For all of his dubious musical talent, he had always been friendly and unbothered by Arya’s continual presence in his house, and she liked joking around with him well enough.

Arya bounded towards the house after picking up the first box she found, and nearly collided head first with Gendry on the porch.

He looked surprised to see her, glancing curiously at the collection of his belongings in her arms. “When did you get here? Did you volunteer to help with the move?” Arya opened her mouth to inform him that, no she had not, not really, and was actually there for cereal, but Gendry spoke before she could explain. “Here, leave that on the porch and help me with my desk.”

Arya grimaced. “See, I’m just here for some lucky charms, I wasn’t actually planning on helping that much…” she trailed off, ducking swiftly and dropping her box when Gendry tried to swat her with the paper towel roll he was holding. She burst into laughter when he missed again.

“You’re shit at this,” she taunted, twisting out of the way and grabbing the roll herself. 

“I know—ow—how did you even take it out of my hands like that?” he asked, putting up his arms for protection as she swung down to hit him.

Arya shrugged, permitting herself a few more whacks before thrusting the roll back for him to take. “I like to think I would have been an excellent sword fighter in another life.” She paused to appraise Gendry before wrinkling her nose. “You would have been terrible.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” he deadpanned. “Now stop distracting me and help with the stupid desk.”

He started to walk towards the truck and Arya grumbled. “Can’t see why you even need me. You can probably lift the thing by yourself.”

Still, she followed him to the curb to assist.

“You’ve got a point actually,” Gendry conceded, clambering in the truck to lift the desk from the back end. “Don’t know why I’d be asking a 90 pound girl for help.”

Arya scowled at him from the other end. “I know you’re just trying to make me mad.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” He grinned at her.

“Yes,” Arya admitted sullenly. “Now shut up before I break your stupid desk by throwing my 90 pound body on top of it.”

“Duly noted,” he replied, though the teasing smile didn’t leave his face. He was enjoying this whole exchange far too much, Arya thought. 

“Lift on three?” Arya nodded in response, and Gendry began the countdown. “1...2...3!”

Arya did her part in holding up the front end, shuffling awkwardly backwards to carry the thing to the house. Gendry stifled a laugh when she almost tripped on the curb, and Arya could have murdered him, sending a withering glance in his direction. He seemed unbothered by it.

The whole ordeal proved to be even more frustrating when the desk appeared not to fit up the narrow staircase.

“Let’s just try getting it one more time,” Gendry said confidently. “I think you have to lift it higher.”

Arya groaned, her patience wearing increasingly thin. “Better plan: throw this in the alley,” she proposed. “You’ll probably be able to exchange it with a different desk that someone threw out and get an upgrade.” 

Gendry looked affronted. “It’s not trashy,” he insisted.”This desk has served me faithful for _years._ ” 

Arya looked down dubiously at the scratched and weathered thing before her. “Sure, Gendry.”

At this point Jon finally emerged from upstairs, looking mildly confused to see his sister and a piece of furniture blocking the staircase.

“Arya? When did you get here?” His eyes widened. “Are you _helping?_ ”

“Why is that so surprising to you?” she demanded indignantly. 

Behind her, Gendry laughed. Arya glared at him, not at all enjoying the feeling of being ganged up on. 

“Don’t try and pretend like I didn’t have to drag you into doing this, kicking and screaming,” he cautioned, smirking. 

“I only complained _a little_.”

“Right,” Jon interjected. “Which is a lot in non-Arya terms.”

“And involved violently hitting me,” Gendry added, unhelpfully.

“Not my fault you missed when you had the chance.” Arya crossed her arms. “And for the record, all I came here for was the lucky charms.”

“Are you the one who’s been stealing the marshmallows?” Jon asked, exasperated. She nodded slowly, looking guilty. “Arya, I blamed Grenn for that! We all got in a fight!”

“In my defense, you told me I could have some of your cereal last week.”

“I didn’t tell you that you could pull out the marshmallows!”

“You should have been more specific then!” Arya set her jaw stubbornly. “And I didn’t take that many extra. I’d bet money that you all secretly take more too.”

Gendry took the opportunity to voice his own opinion. “I’m actually with Arya on that. Anyone who says they don’t cherry pick the marshmallows is lying.”

“Thank you!” Arya threw her hands up emphatically.

Jon sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Heathens, both of you.” He finally lifted his gaze, looking both Arya and Gendry firmly in the eye. “New house rule: _No one_ takes extra marshmallows.”

“Yeah, sounds fair,” Gendry agreed at the same time that Arya rolled her eyes.

When she, surprisingly, said nothing more, Jon raised his eyebrows to prompt her. “It’s a stupid rule,” Arya stated plainly, “but I suppose I’ll follow it.”

Jon visibly relaxed. “Good enough.” He looked at Gendry apologetically. “I really should have told you ahead of time that Arya comes over here all the time, usually to steal food.”

“I do not!” Arya insisted. This was a lie. Arya was constantly showing up to the house under the pretense of some flimsy excuse or another, which Arya and Jon both knew was to preserve Arya’s pride. She would never admit how embarrassingly close she was to her brother, preferring to hide her visits under the guise of something else.

Gendry grinned at her and Jon. “Well, at least it’s never boring. You’d be surprised how quickly an apartment by yourself gets lonely.”

Jon looked away wistfully. “Wish I could relate. I’m stuck with this one all the time.” He gestured to Arya.

“You’re such a martyr, Jon. I mistreat you terribly,” Arya remarked, sarcastically. “Now can we please throw out this table or get it unstuck so I can eat lucky charms.”

“We’re not throwing it out!” Gendry looked distraught at the very notion.

“What else are you going to do with it if you can’t get it in your room, genius?” Arya paused to consider her own question. “I guess you could also burn it.”

“Absolutely not,” Jon interrupted. “You’d burn the house down.”

“I would take it outside first!” Arya wasn’t stupid enough to try doing that on the staircase, and resented that Jon thought she might.

He cocked his head at her clarification. “In that case it’d probably be fine. We could do a bonfire night or something.”

“Exactly! We could invite a bunch of people and make a party out of it.”

“We’d just need some drinks and music…”

“Sansa could help plan…”

Gendry cleared his throat, loudly. “No one is burning my desk!”

Arya frowned. “Party pooper,” she said, readjusting her grip on the table. “Ready to lift then, if we're not burning the thing?”

“Yes, but remember you have to pull higher than you think, otherwise it’ll get stuck again.”

“Aye, aye captain.” Arya said, a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth.

And, finally, with a fair amount of grunting and grumbling, the desk made its way to Gendry’s new room, finishing its journey with an unceremonious shove to lodge it firmly against the far wall. 

Arya glanced around the room. Though most of Gendry’s belongings were still in boxes, she caught glimpses of things that made her smile. Practical manuals on mechanics and engineering were mixed in piles with fantasy novels and paperback murder mysteries, and scraps of graph paper with writing and drawings scrawled on them were tucked into everything. There weren’t many pieces of memorabilia that Arya could see, except for a stuffed bull sitting unapologetically on the bed. 

“Who’s this?” she asked, picking it up and grinning. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be old and homemade, but still in decent shape, with two button eyes and a slightly mangled tail.

Gendry snatched it out of her hand. “Ferdinand. Shut up.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“You were going to, I could tell.”

“I’ve got nothing against… Ferdinand, was it?”

“Yes,” Gendry said, looking as though he would prefer to crawl in a hole and die than continue this conversation. “But it’s not like—I mean, I just keep it because I made it,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You _made_ it?” Arya’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ shape in her surprise. “When? How?”

He shrugged. “Bit of a long story, actually.”

Arya was about to mention how fond of long stories she was when Jon interrupted. She had almost forgotten he was still there. “If you’re still hungry, Arya, you could help me fry up some bacon and eggs.”

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite brother,” she said gleefully, her long awaited wish of food finally coming to fruition and the story of Ferdinand seeming significantly less important.

“I’ll try and take that as a compliment.” Jon smiled wryly, and Arya gestured at Gendry to follow them.

“Coming? We can all help finish unpacking later.”

He grinned. “Can’t say no to a hot breakfast, I suppose.”

***

**Arya:** feel like getting a coffee tomorrow?

**Sansa:** Wish I could :( 

**Sansa:** Have to meet the plumber tomorrow.

**Sansa:** Theon fucked up my sink.


	5. In Which Gendry is a Poet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who had a free day and spent most of it writing and outlining a plot? this bitch!!

Sandor Clegane was an ass. 

And Arya didn’t mean that she just didn’t like him, or that he was gruff to the point that it became cruel, even if both those things were more than true, but rather that she had genuinely never met a person who fit all the varying complexities of the insult quite so well. He was gross and crude and unnecessarily harsh, but worst of all, he had managed to ruin what Arya had hoped would be her favorite class.

Because why was she even majoring in archaeology, if not to learn about medieval weaponry? Was there ever a topic that would more clearly be something that Arya was desperately interested in? It was despicable, _despicable,_ to ruin such an obvious source of joy with a hostile learning environment and a brusque dismissal of Arya’s passion. She hated him for it.

Or perhaps hate didn’t convey the weight of Arya’s feelings for Professor Clegane. She _loathed_ him, truly and deeply, and from what she could gather, he felt the same way, grudgingly handing back her brilliant essays and aced quizzes with a deep reluctance about granting her the success she deserved, and never failing to insult her in an attempt to balance things out. He refused to call on her, point blank, and practically growled every time she voiced her opinion or posed her question anyway. The typical student-professor relationship had been replaced by a vicious tête-à-tête of insults, threats, and occasional intellectual debates on various medieval weapons and their significance, during which the rest of the class would watch with rapt attention and utter silence, none wishing to get involved in what was increasingly becoming a deeply personal feud between two clashing personalities.

Perhaps that was why, at the end of the lecture for the day, Clegane announced that everyone would be completing a partner project on a sword type of their choice.

“I don’t give a fuck what kind it is, just follow the rubric. I will not be taking questions on it. Your partner is the person next to you. If you ask to switch, I will fail you.” He looked straight at Arya when he said the last part, daring her to challenge him. 

She scowled at him, shoving down the explosive rage that he so often conjured, and instead focusing on the person sitting next to her, who would apparently be her partner for the project. 

Arya didn’t recognize him in the slightest. He was the sort of person who would blend easily into a crowd, chubby and mild-mannered, with a thick mess of dark hair and a nervous look on his wide face. 

He smiled weakly at her, and Arya tried not to let her disappointment show. She hadn’t heard him speak once in the class, and he was hardly the right person to stand down Clegane with. Arya needed this project to be excellent, half out of spite and half out of her own desire to maintain an A.

“That’s it,” Clegane said flatly. “Go on, get out of here. I don’t plan on spending an extra second with you lot.” He shooed his students away from his spot at the front of the room, and everyone quickly began collecting their things, not wishing to incur his wrath any more than necessary. 

Once Arya had shoved her laptop into her bag, she turned around to find her partner waiting slightly behind the desk she had been at.

“Hi,” he said, apologetically, leaving Arya feeling slightly guilty for her earlier, less than thrilled reaction to his presence. “My name’s Hot Pie.”

“Arya,” she introduced herself, forcing a smile and holding out her hand as a gesture of goodwill. He took it and grinned. “What kind of name is Hot Pie?”

“Well, it’s not really my name, but everyone calls me that,” he explained. “Figured it’s easier to just introduce myself that way.”

“I mean, I assumed it was a nickname,” Arya replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “But why Hot Pie?”

Hot Pie looked somewhat baffled by the question as they made their way out of the classroom. “Well, I don’t know,” he answered, speeding up to keep pace with Arya. “I guess ‘cause I like pies.”

“Everyone likes pies,” Arya countered.

“It’s just a nickname.” Hot Pie shrugged. 

Arya sighed. She guessed that was true. “Right then, Hot Pie. When do you want to work on this project?”

“Now?” he proposed. “Lommy and I are hanging out tonight, but that’s ages away, and he’s always late anyway.”

Arya had no idea who Lommy was. “Sure,” she agreed. Arya had no pressing plans to speak of, except maybe stopping by to see Jon. And Gendry too now, she supposed. She had only met him weeks earlier, but counted him as a friend. Or something of that nature.

“We could go to a cafe or something and talk about ideas,” Arya suggested.

Hot Pie brightened immediately at her plan. “There’s this great little bakery a few blocks away,” he enthused. “Their scones are a little dry sometimes, but the bread is really good.”

Arya was not reassured by his inordinate focus on the baked goods, but she agreed anyway. “Yeah, that’d work.”

Hot Pie grinned. “It’s this way,” he directed, and Arya followed him down the street. 

The walk was short, but Arya felt as though it would never end. Hot Pie didn’t stop talking the entire time. Once Arya had established herself as friendly, any reserve he had before quickly dissipated, and Hot Pie rambled on about his life cheerfully. 

A lot of it seemed to involve a friend named Lommy, but mostly Hot Pie talked about baking. Apparently he was just as passionate about bread as Arya was about medieval weaponry, and she learned more about the proper technique for kneading dough in their five minute walk than she probably ever needed to know.

When they finally walked in, Arya had to admit that the place he suggested was nice. Not caring about these things overmuch, Arya usually just went to Iron-brewed, seeing as there was about a 50/50 chance of getting her drink for free (recently the chance had been much higher; telling Theon that she didn’t hate him was evidently an effective way to win his loyalty). Nonetheless, Crossroads Bakery was decorated well, with cheery lighting and gingham curtains. The fresh bread smelled amazing, and Arya could picture herself coming by again. 

Hot Pie picked a table by the window, and Arya set her things down. She ordered two lemon cakes at the counter, one for herself and one to bring to Sansa, who loved the things. Hot Pie took much longer to decide, waffling between several options and making conversation with the girl at the register. He finally made his way back to Arya and their table carrying a loaf of something in a bag (Arya didn’t dare ask what kind of bread, for fear of derailing the conversation indefinitely) and a croissant in the other hand. 

“So,” Arya began, once Hot Pie had settled into his seat. “I was thinking we do something on rapiers, maybe the kind Braavosi water dancers used.” 

Hot Pie nodded. “Oh, that’s a good idea.” A momentary flash of concern crossed his face. “Doesn’t Clegane hate it when you bring up water dancers, though?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Exactly the point.”

“Oh.” Hot Pie’s eyes widened. “You’re much braver than me, Arya. Why are you always antagonizing him?”

“Because he deserves it,” Arya replied, as if it were obvious. “He’s a shit teacher, so I don’t see why I can’t be a shit back.”

Hot Pie furrowed his brow. “But doesn’t that just make things worse? He just gets mad at all of us.”

It was the first time Arya had considered how her own agenda might have been hurting her classmates. “But I’m sticking up for you all,” she insisted. “How can that be a bad thing?”

“Well, it seems to me if I just keep my head down he doesn’t bother me. He only gets really angry when you start to argue with him,” Hot Pie said, cautiously.

“He’s an asshole. He bothers people even when they keep their heads down.” Arya looked Hot Pie firmly in the eye. “Listen to me Hot Pie. We are wolves, not sheep. If we all keep giving him shit, something’s got to change.”

Hot Pie looked at her uncertainly. “If you say so, Arya.” He paused for a moment to consider her words more seriously. “I guess we can do it on Braavosi water dancers.”

Arya grinned. “Excellent. Now let’s get to work.”

***

Arya headed back to her building far more satisfied than she might have thought. Despite initial perceptions, Hot Pie was smart and diligent, committing wholeheartedly to her fuck-Clegane mentality. As a bonus, he had promised to give her some fresh bread the next time he made some. Arya was glad to have met him.

Shireen was home when she arrived, surprisingly conscious. Her blonde hair was falling in her face as she hunched over her laptop on the couch, fingers flying as she typed. Arya cleared her throat to announce her presence, and Shireen’s head shot up.

“Hi,” she said, smiling widely. “I feel like we keep missing each other.” 

Arya kicked off her shoes by the front door. “That’s because your sleep schedule is wildly unhealthy.”

“I object to that,” Shireen replied, shutting her computer and scooching over to make room for Arya to sit down. “It’s only mildly unhealthy.”

“ _Wildly,_ ” Arya repeated, and plopped down next to her roommate. “What have you even been working on?”

Shireen answered vaguely. “Oh, you know, this and that. Pre-med is terrible and I’m dying, but at least at the end of all this I’ll have four more years of school to look forward to.” She smiled unconvincingly.

“You sound like my sister,” Arya remarked. “I don’t know what possesses you two to try so hard.” Although Arya was capable of discipline when she wanted, she rarely did. She felt no obligation to take on a million extra things or pursue a degree in something as ambitious as law or medicine, preferring to only try in the courses she liked, and devote the rest of her energy to enjoying herself. Sansa and Shireen’s high strung nature and drive to do as much as possible was a complete mystery to her.

“Childhood insecurity about my self worth?” Shireen suggested, too close to the truth to be funny. Despite Shireen being possibly the easiest person to be around that Arya had ever met, her parents were both somewhat terrible people. Her father was cold and harsh, and her mother was the type to constantly imply that Shireen wasn’t attractive or skinny enough. 

“That’s a terrible reason to try hard,” Arya replied, giving her friend a stern look.

Shireen sighed. “Yeah, probably. That’s what therapy is for, I guess.” She looked at Arya. “Why have you been out of the house so much lately?”

Arya answered cagily. “I dunno, hanging around at Jon’s or at Iron-brewed a lot, I guess.” Hanging around at Iron-brewed really meant talking to Gendry, and Arya wasn’t sure why she hesitated to tell her friend the full truth. She changed the subject. “I’ve decided to set up Theon and Sansa, though. Any bright ideas on how to do that?”

“Lock them in a room until they confess their love?” Shireen joked. 

Arya rolled the idea around in her mind. “That’s actually a decent plan.”

“No, it absolutely is not. Don’t do that,” Shireen said, balking at the idea.

“Too late, I’m considering it now.”

“Arya! That would go _terribly_.”

“But it might work.”

“Yeah, but they also might never speak to you again.”

“Fair enough. That would be somewhat unfortunate, at least on the Sansa front,” Arya conceded. “I’ll have to keep thinking.”

Shireen sighed in relief. “Once I finish this, do you want to watch a movie?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah, sure,” Arya agreed. “Princess Bride?”

Shireen nodded enthusiastically. “Of course.” 

“I can run out and get some booze first,” Arya offered. The two had recently run out after a very wild night that didn’t bear repeating. 

“Bless you,” Shireen said gratefully, opening up her laptop again as Arya moved to run back out of the house. 

***

Arya pursued the shelves of liquor at the grocery store, frowning at most of the prices. She didn’t understand the point of expensive alcohol in the least. The reason you drank alcohol was to get drunk, not because it tasted good. In fact, it tasted downright nasty most of the time, regardless of how much you paid for it. The only exceptions to this rule were sugary drinks that masked the taste entirely, and the quality of those wasn’t price dependent either. 

Arya had just settled on a (probably regrettable) bottle of vodka, when she noticed a familiar head of dark hair further down the aisle. Gendry appeared to be comparison shopping whiskeys, and Arya smiled as she rolled her cart over to greet him.

“Still down for that drinking competition?” she asked, lifting one eyebrow. “You don’t have any excuses about work now.”

Gendry looked up from the label he had been reading somewhat startled. “I think being in a grocery store is a pretty decent excuse.” He furrowed his brow. “Do you know anything about whiskey? I was instructed to buy the good shit, but I have no idea what that means.”

Arya groaned. “Gods, is Jon trying to act like a tortured author again?”

“It’s apparently poetry night, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m so sorry you’re being subjected to that.”

Gendry raised his eyebrows. “Have you been to one before? I have no idea what to expect.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Arya replied darkly. “They have them every month, and they’re unbelievably stupid.”

Gendry grimaced. “I don’t have to do anything, do I? No reading or writing poetry?”

“No,” Arya conceded. “You just have to listen to theirs, but it’s only marginally better.”

“Suppose this is the awkward part about living with literature students,” Gendry sighed. “I hate poetry.”

Arya nodded solemnly. “It’s definitely one of Jon’s worst qualities,” she agreed. “Though to be fair, engineering is also stupid.”

Gendry frowned. “What do you have against engineering?”

“The deadly boredom, mostly,” Arya said casually. “It’s just math, but with more bridges, from what I can gather.”

“First of all, that’s not true, and secondly, I would hardly consider archaeology riveting. Don’t you just look at old pieces of pottery all day?”

“No,” Arya said stubbornly. “There’s lots more involved.” Sensing the likelihood that this conversation would lead nowhere, she changed the subject. “Why’d you get sent out for whiskey if you don’t know anything about it?”

“Everyone else is fixing the house up before the rest of the poetry reciters arrive, so I volunteered,” he explained. “Though now I’m wondering if I should have done that. Are they going to get mad at me if it’s shitty whiskey?”

“I think you’re overthinking this. Once they’re all a few glasses in, no one will notice,” Arya said, reassuring Gendry. “You should just buy more than you think you need. It’s infinitely more enjoyable if everyone is drunk off their asses.”

Gendry nodded. “Quantity over quality, makes sense.” He glanced down at her cart, empty except for the cheap vodka. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m supposed to resupply on booze. My roommate and I are watching the Princess Bride.”

Gendry groaned. “That sounds so much better than poetry night.”

Arya smiled smugly. “Oh it is. While you’re stuck listening to my brother and his idiot friends snap along to overwrought nonsense, I’ll be enjoying a cinematic masterpiece.”

“They snap?” Gendry asked, preemptively upset.

“Grenn wore a beret, last time, if I remember correctly.” 

“Maybe I’ll just say I’m sick and camp out upstairs.”

“Smartest decision you could make, honestly.”

Sighing, Gendry placed a few bottles in his cart. “No point in putting it off any longer, I guess. You ready to check out?”

Arya nodded, and started pushing her cart towards the front of the store. Gendry followed her, looking less than thrilled about the night ahead of him and questioning Arya about the details. The line by the register was empty, and it wasn’t long before the pair exited the store.

“Buck up,” Arya said, after Gendry had been troubled to hear about the length of the poetry night that Arya had attended. “You can text me about all the stupid things they say. It’ll be funny.”

“Funny for you maybe,” Gendry grumbled. 

Arya only grinned. “Bye Gendry.”

He waved, and Arya began the walk back to her flat.

***

Shireen seemed more than happy with what Arya had bought. “We have some ginger-ale and cranberry juice somewhere. Either would work. Or both,” she said, heading to the kitchen to retrieve them. 

Arya took care of queuing up the movie in the meantime. She and Shireen had seen it more times than they could count, but both of them still enjoyed watching it together. It was how they had bonded as roommates in the first place, and at this point it was a time honored tradition to drunkenly watch _The Princess Bride_ as a de-stressing mechanism. 

When Shireen came back into the living room carrying glasses of some alcoholic concoction, Arya gratefully took hers and settled into her seat on their worn gray couch.

“This looks awful,” she said, making a face. It was murky and reeked of cheap vodka, still bubbling slightly from the addition of what Arya assumed was ginger-ale.

Shireen sat down with her legs crossed under a fleece blanket. “It is. I tasted it already just to see.”

Arya laughed. “Glad I have that to look forward to.”

Shireen waved her hand dismissively. “It won’t matter once you’re drunk.”

Arya took a sip. It really was awful. Coughing a little, she looked at Shireen in surprise. “How strong did you make these?”

“Probably too strong,” Shireen replied, mildly concerned. 

“That’s an understatement,” Arya said, holding back a laugh. She put her drink down on the coffee table and grabbed the remote. “You ready to start this?”

Shireen nodded, her head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. Arya hit play.

It didn’t take long for Arya to lose herself in the silliness of the story, slightly tipsy when her phone vibrated underneath her. Normally Shireen would have scolded her for this faux pas, but she had worked through her drink a lot faster than Arya had, and wasn’t focused enough to notice much of what was happening around her, giggling hopelessly at the screen. Arya pulled out her phone, hoping it was a text from who she thought it was.

**Gendry:** Holy shit dude I need to tell u somethinf 

**Gendry:** Seriously Arya check your phone I needddd to talk !

Arya grinned as she looked at his messages. He was so fucking wasted. 

**Arya:** are you drunk??

**Gendry:** Oh for definitely 

**Gendry:** But it’s fine 

**Gendry:** I UNDERSTAND POETRY NOW

**Arya:** oh? please elaborate

**Gendry:** It’s like art but with words

**Arya:** how profound

**Gendry:** Ya I know

**Gendry:** Grenn gave me the beret 

**Gendry:** Bc I’m soooo good at poetry now

**Arya:** can you write a poem for me then?

**Gendry:** YES

**Gendry:** Ok here it comes!’

**Gendry:** I am so drunk 

**Gendry:** Very very very drunk

**Gendry:** My haiku is over

**Arya:** that was not at all a haiku but thanks

**Gendry:** No it is Pyp counted

**Gendry:** And he knows way more peotry than you

**Arya:** ah yes, peotry, not to be confused with poetry

**Gendry:** No wait I meant poetry

**Gendry:** He knows more poetry than you

**Gendry:** He’s teaching me all about great literature

**Arya:** mmm ig i just don’t know what i’m talking about

**Gendry:** No u do not but you’re still really smart so it’s ok!!!!

**Gendry:** U can look at old broken rocks in the dirt hahahahaha

**Gendry:** I can build bridges AND write peotry

**Gendry:** peotry

**Gendry:** POETRY

**Arya:** no need to shout

**Arya:** i really hope you remember this tomorrow

**Gendry:** I’ll never forget you

**Gendry:** You told me to buy lots of alcohol 

**Gendry:** And now I am a poet

**Arya:** don’t you mean a peot?

**Gendry:** NO

**Gendry:** Ok I gotta go we’re making panckaes

**Arya:** have fun lmao

Arya looked over at Shireen. She was fast asleep and snoring a little, and Arya had missed too much of the movie to really get back into it. Instead, she turned it off, leaving Shireen under her blanket on the couch, and headed back to her own bed.

She couldn’t wait to hear back from Gendry in the morning.


	6. In Which the Scheming Commences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love lazy summers where i can update daily, haha. trying to take full advantage of the time before college kicks my ass...

On some level, Gendry knew that it was a terrible idea to continue talking to Arya Stark. He could tell himself that things were strictly platonic all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that she was distractingly pretty, built like a pixie and imbued with an intoxicating ferocity in all her mannerisms. More than that, she was witty and a little bit mean, quickly becoming one of his favorite people to have a conversation with. 

It also didn’t change the fact that she was five years longer and his new roommate’s younger sister. Gendry tried to remind himself of that whenever he found his gaze lingering on her too long, or when he smiled like an idiot because she texted him back.

Because it was gross to like her that way, right? It was gross and lecherous and possibly sexist, though Gendry wasn’t clear on the last one. And even if he somehow made peace with being a disgusting degenerate, Gendry was hardly looking to stir up shit with Jon, who he actually really liked and also lived with, and who probably would be less than thrilled to hear about his roommate’s gross, lecherous, possibly sexist feelings for his sister.

More importantly, he didn’t even know if she liked him back in that sort of way. He had only become reasonably certain that she considered him a friend in the last week or so, after the poetry/peotry texting debacle. If there was any way to cement a friendship, it was drunk-texting a person, and Gendry had seen Arya almost daily since. 

Realistically, the best thing to do was to be less close to Arya. It was fine to stay friendly, but Gendry knew that if he continued hanging out and talking to her as much as he was now, things were likely going to end badly for him. 

He sat at his desk with his cheek pressed against the wood surface, brooding silently and not getting any of the work done that he was supposed to. 

Emotional turmoil was deeply inconvenient sometimes.

Near his face, Gendry’s phone buzzed. Sighing loudly, he sat up to read the notification.

**Arya:** meet me at iron-brewed in 15

**Arya:** v important top secret things to discuss

_Oh fuck it_ , Gendry thought. He was gross and lecherous and possibly sexist, and he didn’t care. 

**Gendry:** Better yet, race you there

**Arya:** you realize i run cross country right?

**Gendry:** Is that a yes?

**Arya:** ofc. i’m not a coward

Grinning, Gendry stood up, rushing to grab his coat and wallet. He nearly tripped going down the stairs, but managed to regain his balance. Pyp eyed him thumping downstairs from his position on the couch and raised an eyebrow.

“You late for something?” he inquired, holding back a smile.

Gendry reddened and froze momentarily. “No. Just um, meeting someone for coffee.”

“Riiiight,” Pyp said, painfully slowly. “Wouldn’t be Jon’s sister, would it?” he asked, in a tone that clearly conveyed the fact that he already knew that it was Jon’s sister who Gendry was meeting. 

“No,” Gendry lied stubbornly. Great. He could add that to his current title. _Lying, gross, lecherous misogynist_.

Pyp nodded slowly, looking uncomfortably deep into Gendry’s eyes. “Have fun, then,” he replied suspiciously. 

“Thanks,” Gendry said brightly, pretending not to hear Pyp’s insincere tone. He hurried to put on his shoes and speed-walked out of the house and down the block.

He debated running the rest of the way, but figured he would lose regardless of if he ran or walked, and decided to make his life easier by walking instead. He looked less ridiculous that way, and he wouldn’t be gross and out of breath by the time he got there. Well, as gross and out of breath.

Yara was behind the counter, and inclined her head slightly to acknowledge Gendry. He was still terrified of her, though how much of that was justified and how much was simply conditioned in him after listening to Theon all the time was debatable. He waved briefly in greeting, and scanned the room for Arya.

She sat in one of the armchairs by the window, peering down intently at her laptop, with a mug of something Gendry was willing to bet was a chai latte in front of her. She didn’t look up until Gendry was practically in front of her.

She sighed dramatically. “Took you long enough,” she said, gesturing for him to sit.

He appraised her comfortable position. She could have at most beat him there by five minutes, and yet was somehow already comfortably filling the time with schoolwork and halfway done with her drink.

“You were already here when you agreed to the race!” he accused. Unbelievable. 

Arya smirked. “You just seemed so excited about it,” she replied evenly, as if she really had been doing him a favor.

“I almost _ran_ ,” he said, deeply indignant. “I speed-walked the whole way and looked like an idiot!”

Arya shrugged. “It got you here faster though, didn’t it?” She closed her computer and leaned towards him. “And it’s for a very important cause.”

Gendry grimaced. “Is it so important that I can’t get a coffee first or…” he trailed off. Speed-walking could make a man thirsty, and he was too groggy to handle the inevitable quibbling that he was sure would come next. 

Arya blinked slowly at him. “You’re such an idiot sometimes, Gendry.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” 

“Fine, you can get your stupid straight black coffee,” Arya said with deep irritation, rolling her eyes and swallowing further commentary. 

“Great,” Gendry stood up and paused for a moment. “Also, it’s not stupid.”

Arya looked ready to retort, but he walked over to order before she could insult him or his coffee preferences further.

“Hi,” he said, sending Yara a forced smile. “I’ll get a small coffee for here.” 

“You friends with Arya?” she asked, jerking her head in the direction of their table. 

“Yeah,” Gendry agreed, not particularly surprised that she knew Yara. They exuded similar energies. “And Theon,” he added.

Yara rolled her eyes. “I don’t care if you know my dumbass brother.” She refrained from entering anything in the register, however, and continued talking. “Arya’s funny, though. Won’t charge you for this one.”

Gendry’s eyes widened. “Thanks.” He had been coming here for years, and Yara had never once given him a free drink until now. He didn’t even think she had said more than two consecutive words to him.

“No problem,” she said, a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. “I’ll bring it over.”

Gendry nodded, and returned to sit with Arya.

“Are you friends with Yara?” he asked, mildly curious. “She gave me the coffee for free.”

Arya grinned. “Yara’s the best. We bonded over being annoyed by Theon.”

Gendry laughed, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah, that checks out for both of you.” He slid down into the armchair across from Arya. “Never really understood what you have against him, though.”

Arya looked at him as if it were obvious. “I don’t have anything against him. He’s just a moron and should be treated as such.”

“He’s not that much of a moron,” Gendry said, defending his friend. “He’s going for a chemistry PhD.”

“ _That’s_ what he’s studying?” Arya looked shocked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“You didn’t know? Aren’t you family friends or something?”

Arya scoffed. “I don’t even know what my other older brother does for a living.”

Gendry laughed. “I always thought it was a bit strange how mean you were to Jon, considering he’s your favorite, but I guess if you don’t even know what the other one _does_ …” 

“I’m not mean to Jon! I’m an incredibly nice, helpful little sister.” Arya set her jaw stubbornly as if she sincerely believed what she had just said, making her previous statement all the more ridiculous sounding. “And it’s not as if I have no idea what Robb does. It’s some stupid business thing for a big fancy corporation in King’s Landing.”

Gendry tried to hold back a grin and failed. “Sorry, can we go back to the part where you said you were nice and helpful?”

Arya glared at him. “Do you have a problem with that, or something?”

“I mean, it’s just funny that you’ve managed to convince yourself.”

“Shut up.” 

“That wasn’t very nice or helpful.”

The look on Arya’s face was positively murderous, and Gendry dissolved in laughter. She took the opportunity to kick him squarely in the shins.

“Ow!” The smile fell quickly from his face. “ _Definitely_ not nice or helpful.”

“I’ll kick you again,” she threatened.

Gendry decided to change the subject before things escalated any further.

“So,” he began. “What is this all important reason for meeting?”

Arya smiled and straightened her back, looking especially pleased with herself. “I have a brilliant plan to set up Sansa and Theon,” she declared.

Damn. He had been hoping that she’d forgotten all about that. He was still less than convinced that any plan either of them came up with would work. 

Before Gendry could attempt to gracefully bow out, Yara sighed with relief behind him.

“Thank the gods,” she said, handing Gendry his coffee. “Someone has to do it.”

Arya nodded enthusiastically. “I am so sick of their constant bickering and sexual tension.”

Yara broke into a rare grin. “Theon practically writes _Mr. Theon Stark_ in a notebook every night.”

“Sansa has more dignity than that,” Arya said loyally, “but she keeps pretending that she doesn’t like him because she’s never dated someone who wasn’t an entitled asshole before.”

“You’re doing a public service,” Yara replied firmly. “What’s the current plan?”

Arya looked thrilled to explain. “Well, I considered just locking them in a room, but Shireen thought that might backfire.”

“Might?” Gendry interjected. 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Fine. It would definitely backfire.”

Satisfied, Gendry gestured for her to continue. Arya made a face at him. She hated anything that implied she needed permission to do something. It was exactly why Gendry had done it.

“Anyway,” Arya proceeded, “I was thinking we drag them out to see a rom-com.”

“There’s that new one in theaters,” Yara suggested. “Something something Volantis.”

“Right, that’ll work,” Arya replied. “We just make them sit next to each other, and hope it all falls into place.”

It wasn’t the worst idea Gendry had ever heard. It wasn’t the best, but he couldn’t think of anything that could go horribly wrong. 

“So I’m in charge of getting Theon to come?” he asked. Arya nodded. “That should be easy enough. He made me watch _Ten Things I Hate About You_ once.”

“Oh yeah,” Yara said solemnly. “He loves that movie. Pretty much every rom-com as a matter of fact.”

“So does Sansa!” Arya exclaimed. “See, it’s perfect.”

Gendry did have one concern about the logistics. He turned to Arya, somewhat confused. “If you’re the one inviting Sansa, how are you going to convince her that you want to see a rom-com?”

Gendry could have sworn that Arya reddened slightly. “Not important. If I suggest it, she’ll be so happy that she doesn’t question it.”

Yara furrowed her brow. “I don’t know Sansa that well, but she seems to question everyone’s motives.”

Gendry nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought too.” 

“She’s _my_ sister, I think I know what I’m talking about,” Arya said, seemingly insulted that they didn’t have faith in her prediction.

Gendry shrugged. “Well, you might want an excuse planned out. I mean, just in case.”

Yara agreed. “Even Theon would be suspicious if I suggested watching a rom-com, and we both know he’s hardly the mistrustful type.”

“It’s possible,” Arya began hesitantly, her voice less boldly certain than normal, “that Sansa and I watch them all the time. And that she won’t question a thing.”

Gendry and Yara both stared at her for a moment, trying to imagine Arya enjoying a romantic movie. Arya glowered at both of them, beet red. “I can be tough and still like _Ten Things I Hate About You_. They’re not mutually exclusive character traits.”

For once Gendry resisted the urge to mock her. “Fair enough. _Ten Things I Hate About You_ is a decent movie.”

Arya relaxed a little. “It is,” she managed to say, still looking somewhat mortified.

Yara broke the silence, glancing at both of them. “Right then,” she said, all business-like. “Let me know if I can aid or abet in this plan. Otherwise I’ll be up front.”

“I think we’re good, honestly,” Arya replied, trying to regain some of her lost dignity. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Yara gave them both a little half-smile, before walking back up to the counter.

“Personally, I’m partially to _Forgetting Sarah Marshall_ ,” Gendry said, grinning.

“Shut up.” Arya looked as though she was debating what to say next. “If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll kill you.”

 “See, again, neither nice or helpful.” She kicked him. “Shit! Seven hells that was hard.” He rubbed his shin protectively. “Are you wearing steel toed boots or something?”

She ignored his question. “I told you I’d kick you again.”

“Sometimes people use their words to communicate, instead of kicking.”

“I swear to the gods I’ll kick you again. How’s that for words?” Arya raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly.

“Exceedingly clear.” 

She laughed. “Good.”

Sighing, Gendry checked the time on his phone. “Shit, I really have to go get some work done.”

“So do I,” Arya said, reopening her computer. “I’ll text you about the movie, alright?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, grabbing his belongings. “See ya.”

She waved half-heartedly, already focused on whatever she was typing again.

***

Later that night, Gendry descended from his room to scrounge for food. It had been a long, terrible several hours of studying, and he was desperately ready to eat and fall into bed before he got up early for a shift at the auto shop the next day.

Jon was sitting in the kitchen, thumbing through a recipe book. He seemed to enjoy cooking a lot, which worked out well for Gendry when he made extras for the rest of the house. 

“Making something?” Gendry asked, opening the fridge. He figured he could just have a few sandwiches for dinner, unless Jon offered to give him some of whatever he was cooking.

Jon nodded, looking up at Gendry from across the room. “Stir fry. I could make some for both of us.” 

“Yeah, sure. I can help with it, if you want,” Gendry offered. Thank the gods. He was sick of ham sandwiches.

Jon smiled at him. “Right then. Chop up whatever vegetables we have in the house, I don’t think it matters what kind.” He stood up and started to pull measuring cups from one of the drawers. 

Without speaking, Gendry rifled through the fridge for the food in question, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. 

Gendry had felt a bit awkward when he first moved in. Grenn, Pyp, and Jon were all friends going back years, and his only real connection to any of them was knowing Jon’s sister, and that was a whole other kettle of fish. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been welcoming—it was just weird to step in all of a sudden, without being friends first. 

After he had gotten absolutely wasted on the infamous poetry night, however, Gendry had felt like he was actually friends with the three of them. He wasn’t quite so lost on all the inside jokes, and there was really nothing like being shitfaced with other people to make you feel more comfortable around them.

Gendry still felt a little weird around Jon, though. It felt icky somehow, talking to him casually, knowing that he was pining like an idiot over Jon’s younger sister. Not that Jon’s opinion should matter so much, or that Gendry should ask him for permission; Arya was her own fiercely independent person who was old enough to make her own decisions, but it still felt like a deception of some kind. Not to mention that Jon’s presence constantly reminded Gendry of all the ways that his crush was gross, lecherous, and possibly sexist.

Gendry pulled out some carrots and a cutting board, working on them silently while Jon appeared to be mixing together some sort of sauce. He cleared his throat. “Anything interesting happen today?”

Jon shook his head. “Not really. I’ve mostly been working on my dissertation, but I’m not sure any poems I read now could compare to the ones we wrote last week.” 

Gendry laughed. “Those were pretty excellent. You should probably just quit while you’re ahead, I doubt anything will be as good ever again.”

“Or at least not until I’m five drinks in,” Jon joked. 

“Yeah, that might have played a role.” Gendry agreed, his mouth curving into a smile. He gestured to the chopped carrots. “Anything you want me to do with these?” 

Jon nodded. “Yeah, just throw them in the bowl over there,” he said, pointing to the large ceramic one on the counter. While Gendry dumped them in, Jon returned Gendry’s question. “Did you get up to anything note-worthy today?”

“Um, not much,” Gendry replied cautiously. “Your sister is trying to set up Sansa and Theon, so she’s trying to rope me into helping.”

“Of course she is,” Jon said, ruefully shaking his head. He appraised Gendry before speaking again. “You and Arya are pretty good friends now.”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess we are,” Gendry said hesitantly. “Just friends, though, just to clarify,” he added.

Jon looked at him for a second. “Right, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Gendry wished he could sink into the floor. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Look, um,” Jon looked deeply uncomfortable as he spoke, turning away from the counter to look Gendry in the eye. “You don’t need to clarify stuff with me. I’m not Robb.”

“Who’s Robb?”

“My brother. He’s—well, I guess he’s more of an older brother, if that makes sense?”

Gendry took that to mean that Robb wouldn’t be opposed to beating him up if he announced any intentions to date Arya. 

“The one in King’s Landing?”

Jon nodded, wincing slightly. “I mean, Arya can do what she wants, and you can do what you want, but I don’t really want to hear about it.”

Gendry felt his whole body sigh in relief. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, we’re just friends, so it’s not really applicable in this case, but—”

“Gendry?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

“Right.” 

The atmosphere relaxed significantly after that. Gendry didn’t think he had ever been so glad to hear someone tell him to stop talking, and he happily shut up while he chopped more vegetables. 

Jon was the first one the break the silence. “Has Pyp bothered you about the murder mystery party yet?”

Gendry looked at him blankly, tossing some bell peppers into the mix. “I’m a little afraid to ask what that means.”

Jon grinned. “It’s actually pretty fun. Might even be better than poetry night.”

Gendry raised his eyebrows. “Oh, well that’s high praise then. Please, enlighten me.”

Pyp poked his head in from the living room. “I’m sorry, Jon, were you attempting to explain Pypar’s Midwinter Murder Extravaganza without me?”

“Oh,” Jon said, exaggeratedly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Pyp nodded solemnly, making himself comfortable at the small table in the corner. “For this is no regular murder mystery party,” he said, widening his eyes in an overly dramatic fashion, “this is Pypar’s Midwinter Murder Extravaganza, written and organized by me, every year.”

Gendry looked at him in confusion. “Pyp, I don’t even know what a regular murder mystery party is.”

Pyp waved away his concerns. “I’ll get to the nitty gritty in a second. First, let me set the scene for you: It’s winter in a country estate up north, white and frozen and harsh. The nobility and their servants are all snowed in after a dinner party, forced to spend possibly weeks together in the mansion. When the beautiful Lady Wormwood is found dead in the study, who could be responsible? The butler? Her estranged lover? A jealous younger sister? It’s up to you party-goers to find out, before the killer strikes again.”

Gendry turned to Jon for a more coherent explanation. “Everyone is assigned a character and a backstory,” he clarified. “You dress up and ask people questions to find out who the murderer is.”

“Well,” Pyp huffed. “That’s a very simplistic way of putting it. It’s more like live, participatory theater.”

“So I have to dress up?” Gendry asked, less than thrilled.

“Everyone does, it’s fun,” Pyp insisted. “And there’s lots of characters, all with uniques stories and important bits of information to solve the crime.” He turned to Jon. “Did your sisters say whether they could come?”

“Arya said it sounded stupid, but Sansa bullied her into agreeing,” Jon informed him, stirring the mix of vegetables and rice in the wok over the stove. “They’ll both be there.”

Gendry grinned at the thought of Arya dressing up as northern nobility for “live, participatory theater”. Sansa must have done more than a fair amount of bullying to make that happen.

“So do I get my character ahead of time?” he asked, then frowned. “I don’t have to buy a costume, do I?”

“Costume attire is recommended beforehand. I am decidedly not rich enough to buy costumes for everyone,” Pyp told him. “You don’t find out who your character is until that night, though.”

“It actually is fun, I swear,” Jon said, smirking at the bewildered expression on Gendry’s face. 

Pyp nodded his head vigorously as Jon scooped some of the stir fry onto two plates, handing one to Gendry. 

“Thanks,” he said, accepting it and sitting down in the chair next to Pyp. 

“No problem,” Jon replied, sliding down across from him. “Hopefully it tastes alright.” 

It did. For something he had thrown together from random things in the fridge, it was excellent. Probably better than things Gendry had made while following a recipe. 

“More than alright,” Gendry assured him, taking a large bite. He turned his attention back to Pyp who looked anxious to share more of the details of his party. Gendry figured he would indulge him. “Right, so do we know who the murderer is?”

“No!” Pyp launched into a long spiel that Gendry only half listened to, tuning out the pretentious bits about the nature of storytelling and authorial intent, savoring his stir fry.

All in all, it was a good way to spend a Sunday night.


	7. In Which the Gang Goes to the Movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was weirdly difficult to write, but it's finally here! highly recommend the song now and then by sjowgren for gendrya vibes, it's p much all i was listening to while writing this lol

Theon was late. This surprised no one, but Arya tapped her foot impatiently anyway, pacing the length of Sansa’s small apartment. 

Sansa looked at her sister curiously from her spot on the couch. “You know Theon’s always like this. He can just meet us at the theater. If he shows up at all.”

It was a practical, pragmatic, and completely rational suggestion. Arya denied it vehemently. “No. We should meet up here like we planned, and go to the theater together,” she insisted, setting her jaw stubbornly.

Sansa wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Since when do you care about sticking to a plan?” Arya opened her mouth to respond, but Sansa continued. “Since when do you care about _Theon_?” she asked, shocked.

Gendry sat awkwardly on the couch, plainly refusing to get involved or help Arya in any capacity. He was such an oaf sometimes. 

“I just think we should wait,” Arya repeated dumbly, at a loss for further justification. Why had she not thought this through properly? Of course Theon would be late and muck it all up, he was _Theon_. She should have had a contingency plan in place.

“Gendry, you want to wait, right?” Arya gave him a significant look, urging him to be useful for once in his goddamn life. 

He snapped into focus. “Right. Yes. Because, um, Theon’s sister made me promise to look out for him.”

What? He was terrible at this, absolutely terrible. Arya furrowed her brow and shook her head slowly, shooting him a look of disappointment.

Sansa, not paying attention to Arya’s facial expressions, instead turned to Gendry. “She did? That’s…weird, but—“

Arya interrupted her sister. “What Gendry meant to say is that Theon promised to pay for his ticket. He can’t afford one because he’s broke.” 

It was Gendry’s turn to look at Arya in irritation, his jaw dropping indignantly. “What? No, I can afford a—“

 “Gendry, I know you’re deeply ashamed of your situation, but it’s fine to accept help,” Arya counseled him, meeting Sansa’s eye with deep pity. 

Her sister looked a bit confused, but intervened quickly. “Oh! I can cover you if you need,” she said, rummaging in her purse, as if to provide the needed cash right then. She looked at Gendry with concern. “Have you talked to Jon about this? I’m sure he can help figure something out with your rent for the next month or two, especially if something’s happened.” 

“Nope,” Gendry said brusquely. “Nothing’s happened, I can afford my rent and a movie ticket fine.” He waved away the bill she proffered. “Really, Arya’s just making stuff up.” He let out a forced laugh. “If I was really broke, I probably wouldn’t be spending my time seeing _What Happened in Volantis_.”

Sansa looked from Gendry’s sheepish expression to Arya’s decidedly wolfish one. “Arya, you want to explain what’s going on? Why are you being so weird?”

It was at that moment that someone knocked on the door. Arya rushed to open it before Sansa could press her further. 

Thankfully, it was Theon, though he was panting and sweaty, his hair and clothes rumpled. Arya wrinkled her nose. “Why are you so gross right now?”

“I ran,” Theon said, taking in a deep breath. “All the way here.”

“From where?” Arya questioned him. 

“My place,” he said, as if that was obvious. “I almost forgot we were doing this, and I was making missing posters for Amelia Earhart.”

“You’re not going to find her now, you idiot. You lost her over a month ago.”

“How do you know?” Theon shot back. “They found the real Amelia Earhart’s plane crash almost a hundred years later.”

“Yeah, and she was _dead_.” Theon’s smug expression fell from his face.

“They also never actually confirmed it was her, and she wasn’t a sugar glider,” Arya added. “So really, none of your point makes sense.”

“Well aren’t you so smart,” Theon replied mockingly. “We can’t all be geniuses like Arya Stark.”

“Well, _you_ can’t, certainly,” Arya retorted in a huff.

“You know what? I’m endearing, Arya, something you wouldn’t—“

Sansa sighed in exasperation behind the pair. “Can we just go?”

Gendry nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, _please_.”

Apologetically, Theon acquiesced. “Yeah. Sorry for being late, by the way.”

“It’s fine,” Sansa waved away his concern, clearly impatient to move past the weird energy hanging over her living room. “We can take my car, it’ll be faster than walking.”

“Shotgun,” Arya called, almost as soon as the words had left Sansa’s lips.

“Wait,” Theon objected lamely. “I was going to take shotgun!”

“You should’ve called it then,” Arya said, shrugging as she followed Sansa out the door.

Her older sister rolled her eyes. “If anyone should be getting shotgun, it’s Gendry. He’s taller than both of you by a significant margin.”

“I’m tall,” Theon protested.

“You’re average at best,” Arya scoffed, appraising his lanky frame. He barely had an inch on Sansa, who was tall to be certain, but it was still nothing to brag about. 

Theon frowned. “No, I’m definitely above average, at _least_.”

Sansa looked at him, holding the door to the building open for all of them. “Oh Theon,” she sighed. “Arya’s right, for once.”

“Maybe you’ll get your growth spurt soon,” Gendry offered, smirking.

 Arya laughed at that, and Theon scowled. “You’re one to talk,” he accused. “What are you? Five foot?”

“Five foot two, actually,” Arya corrected him breezily. “And I don’t suffer from a fragile sense of self worth based on my height, so don’t bother to make any short jokes.”

 She clambered into the front seat, and Theon was too dejected to protest. 

***

The car ride passed about as uneventfully as one could hope, considering the group of people in it. Gendry marveled at how nice Sansa’s car was multiple times, but gave up asking her questions about the model when it became evident that she had no idea what she was talking about. 

Arya almost regretted taking shotgun, realizing after the fact that if she was attempting to make the whole thing date-like for Sansa and Theon, she probably should have let them sit up front together. Then Theon opened his mouth and she forgot all about it.

As they went into the theater to buy their tickets, Sansa and Theon walked slightly ahead, debating the merits of drinking Red Bull for breakfast.

“You realize it’s all sugar and caffeine, right?” Sansa asked him.

“Well, glucose is sugar, and as an expert in chemistry I can tell you that glucose gives you energy to live,” Theon reasoned.

“The sugar in Red Bull is not glucose. That stuff is rat poison.”

“Well I’m not a rat, so I don’t see why that would matter.”

“I don’t even know to respond to that, it’s so profoundly stupid.”

It was typical fare for the two of them, and Arya tuned out their bickering after that, instead speaking to Gendry in low tones. “Yara asked you to look out for him? What kind of idiotic reason is that?”

Gendry scoffed. “Excuse me? I think I’m the one who should be mad here.” He turned to Arya, whispering furiously. “I’m too _broke_ to buy a single movie ticket? Really?”

“It would have worked if you went along with it!”

“No it wouldn’t have, and you know it. You really think Sansa wouldn’t have told Jon, and I wouldn’t have had to have a whole awkward conversation about that? I was just starting to not be weird around him after—” he cut himself off. 

“After what?” Arya demanded.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” Gendry said quickly.

“After what?” Arya asked again, more insistently. 

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. The point is, your excuse was just as stupid.” Gendry looked relieved to have made it to the front of the line, approaching the woman in the box office to buy his ticket, and sidestepping any explanation of his apparent weirdness around her brother.

Arya stewed silently behind him. Not that it mattered now, but her excuse would have worked fine, if Gendry hadn’t balked at it the way he did. And what was he even talking about with Jon? They got along fine, as far as Arya could see, and neither of them was particularly adept at hiding how they felt. It was Sansa who spoke in riddles and expected Arya to divine some secret meaning from it, not Gendry or Jon, who couldn’t lie to save their lives. 

Sansa called over to her. “Arya! We’re getting popcorn for everyone, do you want to meet by the concession stand?” 

Arya nodded, her thoughts drawn away from secret misunderstandings and back to the present moment. “Yeah, that works. See you in a sec.” 

Sansa waved, her shoulders nearly touching with Theon’s as they headed over to the popcorn. Gods, she hardly even _needed_ to scheme to make this happen. 

Gendry was waiting for her after Arya bought her ticket. “Sansa and Theon are buying us popcorn,” she explained. 

Gendry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, I really didn’t have any faith in this working out at all, but that’s surprisingly promising.”

“And don’t you look stupid now,” Arya remarked dryly. ‘I told you it was a good idea.”

“Don’t get too cocky yet,” he warned. “They still haven’t kissed or declared their love or whatever you’re expecting to happen.”

“True,” Arya conceded. “But they’re getting along.”

“They were arguing about rat poison for like five minutes.”

Arya looked up at Gendry stubbornly. “It was friendly banter about rat poison.”

He seemed skeptical. “Is there such a thing as friendly banter about rat poison?”

“We just witnessed it, so yeah, yeah there is.” Arya grabbed Gendry by the wrist and dragged him along. “C’mon, I want my popcorn.”

She pulled him past the soda machines and a crowd of other movie-goers to where Sansa and Theon were waiting, laden with drinks and the aforementioned popcorn. The conversation had shifted to the all around terribleness of Ramsay Bolton, one of the few topics that they could consistently agree on. As far as Arya could tell, he was a massive prick who Theon had once punched after he tried kissing Sansa at a party. Arya hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, but she respected Theon immensely for his decision to do it.

“Why is your tiny hand so strong?” Gendry asked in confusion. Arya had almost forgotten that she was still holding on, and dropped his arm quickly, though he continued commenting on it. “How are your muscles possibly big enough to do that?”

Sansa laughed. “I think Arya is fueled by pure willpower.”

“I’d lean towards spite,” Theon remarked.

“For once, I think Theon is right,” Gendry said, looking at Arya with a mixture of concern and awe. She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know why either of you thinks that’s an insult. I’m in complete agreement,” she replied evenly, taking a bag of popcorn out of her sister’s hands. 

Sansa sighed as they walked down towards theater seven. “Arya, being fueled by spite is not something to be proud of.”

Theon looked as if he were about to butt in, but they had entered the darkened theater, and Sansa preemptively shushed him. The four of them filed into a row near the front, Arya and Gendry making sure to position themselves so that Sansa and Theon sat down next to each other. 

The film was corny and terrible by any objective measure of such things, complete with cheesy beach montages and spontaneous confessions of love. Arya hated herself for smiling when the two protagonists finally kissed at the end.

She peered over at her sister while the credits rolled. Sansa’s face remained placid, staring at the screen with mild curiosity about the names of the cast, while Theon scratched his nose beside her. Neither seemed possessed by any immediate desire to reveal non-platonic feelings for the other, which was somewhat disappointing, but a setback Arya could work with. She just needed to get them alone with each other. 

With locking them in a room together forbidden, a car seemed the next best option. 

She elbowed Gendry. “What’s a good excuse for not riding in Sansa’s car?”

“Why don’t you want to ride in Sansa’s car?” he asked, groggily. Arya rolled her eyes. He must have fallen asleep during the film and only just woken up.

“ _We’re_ not riding in Sansa’s car,” she clarified. “The lovebirds need some time to themselves.”

Gendry groaned, throwing his head back and slouching in his seat. “It’s so cold out. I don’t want to walk,” he complained.

“You’re such a baby. It’s not even that cold.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally sitting up and looking at her. “But I also grew up in King’s Landing, not the North. This is cold for me.”

“Sucks to suck, I guess,” Arya replied, unsympathetic as she stood up and prodded him to do the same. 

Grumbling, he grabbed his coat and exited their row, Arya and the lovebirds in question following behind him. They were bickering again, naturally, this time about the movie. Arya couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. Gendry was annoyingly quiet, grumpy about walking and still waking up properly.

As soon as they made it out of the building, Arya announced her plan to not get in the car. “Gendry and I want to walk,” she informed her sister. She said it with such forcefulness that Sansa didn’t question it, though her sister may have been somewhat distracted by her ongoing argument with Theon about the ending. 

“Suit yourself,” Sansa shrugged, though she raised her eyebrows at the proposition. Arya suspected with dread that Sansa would launch a full investigation into Arya and Gendry’s friendship the next time they spoke. Which was, of course, ridiculous. Arya liked Gendry, but as a friend. 

Definitely just as a friend.

As soon as they had made their goodbyes and started the trek back to their respective houses, Gendry started grumbling again.

“It’s freezing.” He rubbed his arms and remained tense as they walked.

“Weak.” Arya didn’t feel like listening to his complaints. It was uninteresting and unoriginal, and frankly, she knew Gendry could be far wittier. She wasn’t one to suffer gripes about the weather.

“I’m alright with weak,” Gendry replied, unashamed. “If weak people get to sit in fancy cars and avoid long, dodgy walks at night.”

“You’re right. It must be terribly frightening to be a six foot three man wandering the city streets at night,” she deadpanned. “If only I could understand what that felt like.”

“Don’t think you could,” Gendry said, going along with the joke. “Not all of us are so gifted with paper towel roll swords.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “It’s a skill afforded to few. You’d be dead in seconds if any paper towel bandits ambushed us.”

Gendry raised his eyebrows. “Paper towel bandits? Did you learn about those in your medieval weaponry class?”

Arya scowled at the thought of that wretched class. “If only. It’d be better than what we do talk about.”

“Can’t be all bad,” Gendry said with a shrug. “Didn’t you make a friend or something?”

She had. Hot Pie had made a habit of sitting next to Arya, and they spent most of the last lecture drawing rude pictures of Clegane. Hot Pie was adamant about destroying his own caricatures, but Arya had slipped one of hers under the door to his office. She was rather looking forward to his reaction on Monday.

“I guess,” Arya admitted reluctantly, unwilling to say anything remotely positive about Clegane’s class on principle. “Hot Pie’s alright.”

“What kind of a name is that?” Gendry asked, scrunching up his face. 

“That’s what I said!” Arya felt a rush of sweet vindication, and remembered why she kept Gendry around.

“Does he just like pies or…?” 

“Apparently,” Arya replied, with a tone that implied that she thought it was just as stupid a reason as he did.

“People are strange sometimes,” he remarked idly. 

Arya raised an eyebrow. “Like people who think this is cold?”

Gendry’s expression turned sour again. “Still can’t believe we’re walking back, when your sister’s car is _that_ nice.”

“It’s just a car,” Arya said dismissively. “How is it nicer than any other?”

Gendry turned to her as if she had crossed an important boundary. “Just a car?” he repeated. “Arya, do you know how much one of those costs?”

“A lot?” she guessed, based on his tone.

Gendry nodded. “More than a lot. Is your family loaded or something?”

Arya shifted uncomfortably. She hated talking about her family’s money. It always made people think differently of her when they found out. “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way,” she replied, reluctant to expand on it.

“What do your parents do?” he asked, obviously curious to hear more.

“I mean, my dad’s a historian, but technically he’s also Lord of Winterfell,” she admitted warily, watching Gendry’s mouth fall open in shock. “It’s just a stupid title though, it doesn’t mean anything anymore,” she added, emphasizing the last bit. 

It didn’t, it really didn’t. None of the lords around Westeros had been in power for hundreds of years, and it didn’t matter to anyone unless you were a stuck-up prat about it. If Arya were in charge, she would happily give all of the family money away and never attend a stupid charity event with a bunch of rich idiots ever again. 

“Hang on,” Gendry said, eyes wide. “You’re _those_ Starks? Like ancient nobility kind of Starks?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Arya repeated stubbornly. Gods, she wished he could just drop it so she could make fun of him for being cold or something. Why did they have to run through all the stupid facts of her family’s wealth? 

Gendry scoffed. “Course it means _something_. You probably grew up in a mansion and went to cotillions.”

“Castle,” Arya corrected reflexively. “And I hate cotillions. My mom gave up bringing me to them because I caused a scene every time.”

Gendry laughed, though it rang hollow. “Seven hells, Arya. Are you even allowed to associate with the likes of me?”

“Shut up,” she said fiercely. “I don’t care about any of that stuff.” She kicked a pebble on the curb and looked down at her feet. “It’s feudalist bullshit and I don’t know why anyone supports letting us keep the castle and income.”

He didn’t disagree. “So what are you, a lady or a countess or something?”

If looks could kill, Gendry Waters would have been six feet under. “No,” Arya practically snarled.

Her vehemence looked to set him at ease somehow, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile. “Sorry m’lady.”

“Fuck off,” Arya sighed, half with relief and half with annoyance. 

“As m’lady commands,” he replied, trying to keep a straight face and failing.

Oh, she could have strangled him for saying it, he was so bloody annoying. It was good to know he was still going to be an insufferable prat around her, though, lady or not.

“I hate you.”

He grinned. “I know."

 

***

 

Arya opened her phone to a flood of texts as soon as she arrived back at the apartment. 

**Sansa:** So are you and Gendry a thing now???

**Sansa:** Arya I know you’re on your phone rn

**Sansa:** TEXT ME BACK

**Arya:** oh my god no

**Arya:** you realize that it’s possible to have guy friends right?

**Sansa:** Mhmmmmmmm

**Sansa:** For sure for sure

**Sansa:** I mean who doesn’t decline a ride in a car for a super long walk in the cold just to talk to a guy friend?

**Arya:** mmm yea it’s crazy how it can be fun to talk to friends

**Arya:** how was being with just theon

**Arya:** did anything happen?

**Sansa:** What’s that supposed to mean?

**Arya:** what it sounds like it means

**Sansa:** Idk, we were just talking and I dropped him off

**Sansa:** Not really that exciting

**Sansa:** Nothing compared to your walk with a guy friend

**Sansa:** What did you guys talk about that was so fun?

**Arya:** seven hells sansa there’s nothing going on

**Arya:** please stop

**Sansa:** If there’s nothing going on you don’t mind being set up then, right?

**Arya:** there are actually many other reasons to mind being set up

**Arya:** namely that your choices are extremely questionable

**Sansa:** No this one is good, I promise

**Arya:** you say that every time and it’s never true

**Sansa:** Please humor me

**Arya:** going to go with nope on that one

**Sansa:** Fine. I’ll pay for your lattes for a month

**Arya:** interesting offer

**Arya:** if you also pay for my pastries then we have a deal

**Sansa:** Done!

**Arya:** mkay that works for me then

**Arya:** it’s a pleasure doing business, ma’am

**Sansa:** Oh I assure you the pleasure is all mine

**Sansa:** I’m so excited! I promise he’s a good one

**Arya:** yea yea sure 

**Arya:** more importantly, see ya at iron-brewed tomorrow?

**Sansa:** Good to see you’re taking this seriously

**Arya:** ik i’m just a really good sister or something

**Sansa:** Or something is right

**Sansa:** I’ve got to do some work, but I’ll see you tomorrow okay?

**Arya:** sounds like a plan 

Arya looked up at Shireen, who was half watching reruns of _The Office_ from her slouched position on the couch. “Sansa’s setting me up again,” she informed her. “And nothing happened with Theon despite my best efforts.”

“Looks like you have to go back to locking them in a room,” Shireen suggested sarcastically. She furrowed her brow. “But also why are you doing another Sansa set up? I thought you were like five seconds away from dating Gendry.” 

“Locking them in a room is on my agenda,” Arya reassured her friend. She didn’t mention how close she was to legitimately considering that again. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about with Gendry,” Arya added dismissively, busying herself with checking more nonexistent messages.

She actually knew exactly what Shireen was talking about, and Shireen knew she knew. Her roommate raised an eyebrow from her less than dignified position across the room. “Sure.”

Arya scowled. Maybe it was possible that she felt something resembling attraction around Gendry, but Arya Stark didn’t date. She hooked up with people, and let Sansa play matchmaker in exchange for favors and food, but relationships? Arya just wasn’t the kind of person who needed a partner. It was nice and all, but it was completely unnecessary. 

Friends were much better anyway, because friends didn’t break up and stop talking over stupid disagreements. At what point in everyone’s life did they seem to forget how great friendship could be in favor of romance? It seemed to Arya that she was the only person who hadn’t been hoodwinked by society into thinking she needed a boyfriend.

“I don’t date,” she said, flatly. Not that it mattered if she told Shireen that; her friend already knew what Arya’s philosophy was and rejected it all the same.

Shireen shrugged. “I think you’re scared because you actually like him.”

“I’m not _scared_ ,” Arya objected furiously. “I just don’t see the point of ruining a perfectly good friendship because you think about kissing them sometimes.”

“Personally, I think it’s one of the better reasons to ruin a friendship,” Shireen remarked idly. “But suit yourself with wasting time on one of Sansa’s privileged idiots.”

“It’s not wasting time if I get free lattes,” Arya countered.

“Your sister is bribing you?” Shireen exclaimed, breaking into a laugh. “Oh, Arya, I can’t tell if that’s brilliant or despicable.”

“Probably both,” Arya admitted with a wry grin.

Shireen smiled back. “Yeah, probably.” They lapsed into silence for a minute. “Wanna watch?”

Arya shrugged. “Sure.”

Further dissection of her love life could easily wait until tomorrow, or perhaps even better, never be resumed again.


	8. In Which Margaery Gets Involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, so i think i've plotted out the end, and it'll be five more chapters after this. i'm also realizing that the title actually has very little to do with what this story is about anymore, but it's kinda too late to change it lol
> 
> anyway... enjoy!

Sansa didn’t know why she ever tried to get work done at Iron-brewed. It had been one hour and two cups of coffee since she had arrived, and yet her reading response for _Modern Westerosi Politics_ remained no closer to being written than it had before. 

It wasn’t difficult to identify the culprit behind her low productivity level. He was sitting right across from her, his sandy curls a mess as always, jabbering on about how he suspected Yara had a new girlfriend because she had been acting weirdly secretive lately and he _swore_ he heard them in her room last night, except he hadn’t listened that closely because listening to your sister have sex is gross, and by the way he hadn’t had any Red Bull for breakfast in a week and felt amazing, you might be onto something about it being rat poison, and-

“Theon,” Sansa exhaled, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “Seriously, I love you, but _please stop talking._ ”

Theon’s face momentarily fell, all the excited air in his lungs knocked out with a single puff. Sansa imagined this was what it felt like to kick a puppy, a cruel dashing of innocent enthusiasm. 

He recovered quickly enough though, because he was Theon, and one of the things Sansa admired most about him was his unrelenting optimism. “Hang on,” he said, eyes wide open in bewilderment. “You _love_ me?”

Shit. Sansa thought it was massively unfair that she had never outgrown her tendency to say idiotic things around men she was attracted to. What was the point of being sultry and witty and charming when it all fell to pieces around the people it mattered with? Even around Theon, who she had known forever and was possibly the least intimidating man she could have picked to crush on, she lost all semblance of her usual dignified control of social situations. 

Normally, if she hadn’t been overly aware of how blue his eyes were, and how nice it would be to stare longingly into them, she would have easily been able to brush his misinterpretation off with a smooth dismissal, or even state the plain fact that she hadn’t meant _I love you_ in the literal way, but rather the teasing, jokey way. She did love him in the literal way, but that wasn’t expressly relevant here.

“I love it when you shut up,” she snapped immaturely, which was all she seemed to be able to act like around Theon. 

She swore he winced a little when she said it, but that didn’t make sense because Theon was the most impulsive, unable-to-keep-a-secret person she knew. He didn’t feel the same way about her, she knew that. He would have said something otherwise, and she wouldn’t be here languishing with her unrequited attraction right now.

“Fine, I mean, I was just trying to tell you that you were right about drinking Red Bull, but I’ll shut up,” Theon huffed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I have lots of people that I have to talk to anyway.”

“Mmm,” Sansa hummed. “You do that.” 

She felt a twinge of guilt, despite knowing her request for silence was reasonable, and tried to turn her attention back to the document in front of her. 

_The conflict over the growing power of the executive branch has long been discussed by politicians, yet-_

“Sansa?” 

Grudgingly, she peered over the top of her computer. He had lasted about ten seconds, which was longer than he sometimes did.

 “What, Theon?” she asked, exasperated. Theon was a wonderful human being, but _gods_ was he annoying sometimes.

“You’re going to Pyp’s weird party, right?”

She nodded. “I am.” For all of Sansa’s facade of pragmatism and sensible professionalism, she was a romantic at heart, and secretly found the whole rigmarole of dressing up and play-acting all night to be ridiculously entertaining. There was also the added bonus of getting Margaery involved this year, who Sansa was sure would thrive under the overly dramatic and glamorous pretense of it all, and quickly become the belle of the ball, whether intended to be or not.

“Ok, “ Theon began, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “He just sent me an email about the dress code for this weekend and I don’t even know what this shit is.”  He thrust the phone in Sansa’s direction. “What the hell is a silk bib?”

She sighed. This happened every year. Pyp always picked some ridiculous period drama for the storyline, and then expected everyone to show up in era-appropriate clothing. This year was better than last, at least, when he had been hoping for all the men to wear powdered wigs. “Just wear a suit,” she suggested. “Ignore the rest.”

He groaned. “I hate suits. And Pyp makes me the butler who gets blamed every year.”

“Not every year,” Sansa objected. She was pretty sure that he got to be a senile old man once. Or maybe that was Grenn.

“ _Every_ year,” Theon repeated, deadly serious. “I am so sick of bringing everyone drinks and appetizers all night.”

Sansa shrugged. It was a reasonable thing to be annoyed about, but he was under no obligation to attend. “You don’t actually have to go. It’s an easily solvable problem.” Theon was always making things more difficult for himself than they had to be.

“But I want to go,” he whined, slumping back into his chair. “There’s always at least five gossip-worthy events.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea being up on the gossip was so important to you, Theon,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I just don’t want to feel out of the loop!” he insisted. “Last year I didn’t even know Jon and that blonde girl were dating until after they broke up.”

Sansa smirked. That had been funny. Jon and Dany had run into each other a week after they broke up, and Theon had unknowingly suggested that Jon ask her out when she walked away. 

In all fairness though, Sansa also hated feeling out of the loop, and understood Theon’s aversion to missing a party so rife with drama every year. “Pyp told me to wear a maid’s costume,” she said. “So I’m guessing we’ll get stuck serving everyone together.”

Theon brightened remarkably at that. “Well, it’ll be alright then,” he said sincerely, and Sansa couldn’t help but grin like an idiot in response. He didn’t seem to notice though, breezing onto the next thought to cross his mind. “Who do you think is going to hook up while we’re there this year?”

Sansa answered almost immediately. “Arya and Gendry.”

“Really?” Theon asked, looking skeptical. “No offense, but I’ve always had my reservations about whether your sister is capable of human emotion.”

Sansa scoffed. “I’m sure that’s what Arya wants you to think. Just because she acts like she doesn’t care about anyone doesn’t mean it’s true. She and Gendry are most definitely pining after each other.” 

Sansa had had her suspicions from the start, but it had been abundantly clear to her after the movie. Arya mocked him constantly, but in that easy, affectionate way that she did with all the people she actually liked, and Gendry seemed more than capable of teasing her back. They were cute together. She was planning on setting them up, if they couldn’t manage to tell each other themselves.

Theon still seemed less than convinced, but Theon had also argued vehemently in favor of consuming rat poison. He was a moron.

Although maybe she was too for liking him.

“My money’s on Sam and Gilly,” he remarked, looking awfully proud of himself for suggesting it.

Sansa stared at him in confusion, before realizing that Theon was, once again, out of the loop. “They’re already a couple,” she informed him gently.

“Oh.” Theon took a moment to mull it over. “Y’know, that makes a lot of sense actually. Explains a few things.”

“Like the fact that she’s pregnant with their child?” 

“She’s _pregnant?_ ” 

“Yes!”

“No one told me that,” Theon said sullenly. 

“Y’know, I don’t think it’s that no one tells you things,” Sansa mused. “I think it’s just that you don’t pay—”

“Wait,” Theon interrupted her, looking intently over Sansa’s shoulder. “That’s the girl! The one I think Yara’s having sex with!” He pointed a finger, and Sansa turned around as subtly as she could to steal a glance.

“Margaery…?” Sansa asked incredulously, turning back to face him. “You think _Margaery_ is having sex with your sister?” 

It made sense, actually. Sansa wouldn’t have been surprised if it were true. The thing that seemed out of character was the secrecy. Margaery Tyrell bragged openly about her sex life, most especially to Sansa. She said it was what best friends did, but quite frankly Sansa would have been fine with significantly less detail most of the time.

That was Margaery for you, though. Charismatic and glamorous and always pleased with herself. Sansa waved her over with a smile.

Margaery immediately lit up. “Sansa Stark?” she gasped, covering her cherry red lips with one hand in mock surprise. “Whatever are you doing here?” 

“I could ask the same thing,” Sansa countered, raising her eyebrows and jerking her head ever so slightly in Yara’s direction at the counter. 

Margaery immediately knew what Sansa meant, throwing her head back and cackling. She and Sansa chattered on almost constantly while in each other’s presence, but they were more than capable at conversing without words when necessary.

Still laughing, she walked over to Sansa and embraced her in a quick hug, kissing her on each cheek with a large _Mwah._ It was perhaps a bit over the top considering the fact that Sansa had seen her only yesterday, but then again, Margaery was always over the top.

“Gods, this is such a lovely surprise,” she gushed, once they had pulled apart. Leaning in closer, she whispered to Sansa. “I swear I was _dying_ to tell you about Yara, but she wants to keep it on the DL, so, ya know…don’t tell this one.” She jerked her thumb at Theon and spoke out of the side of her mouth rather unsubtly.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Theon heard you guys last night, Mar. He’s the one who told me.”

Theon threw up a hand and waved. “Hi Margaery. Sounded like you had fun with my sister last night.” 

From behind the counter, Yara groaned loudly. “Shut up, Theon.”

Margaery, on the other hand, didn’t flinch at Theon’s words. In fact, she practically preened. “I did have fun, thanks for asking.”

Sheepishly realizing how his comment might be misconstrued, Theon took a moment to clarify his position. “I mean, just to be clear, I wasn’t _trying_ to listen, you guys were just really fucking loud.”

Margaery laughed, deep and unrestrained. “Theon, babe, I wouldn’t blame you if you had been trying,” she reassured him. “The sounds of love are a beautiful thing.”

Yara was stoney faced behind her. “I would have blamed you.”

“I wasn’t trying to listen! Seven hells, Yara, what do you think of me?” Theon asked, affronted.

Yara cocked her head. “A lot of things. Most of them bad.”

Margaery seemed disgruntled that the conversation had drifted to sibling bickering, and interrupted. “Oh, calm down, everything’s fine.”

Sansa snorted. Margaery was one to tell people to calm down. She didn’t seem to notice Sansa’s derision though, waltzing up to kiss Yara and firmly cement herself as the center of attention once more.

Sansa and Theon looked on, waiting for it to end. Instead, their embrace only deepened, and quickly became uncomfortable to watch.

Theon cleared his throat. “Right, well, so much for keeping it on the DL. I’ll never be able to look at my sister the same way again. Or Margaery for that matter.”

Sansa nodded, her mouth pulled back in an uncomfortable line. “So, um, what were we talking about before?”

Theon screwed up his face, making certain not to look to his right. “Arya and Gendry?”

Sansa pounced on the topic with relief. “Right. So. They’re in love with each other, we covered that. Ummm, did I mention I was going to set them up if they don’t confess their feelings soon? Still haven’t decided how, but-”

Margaery and Yara had finally separated, and the former eagerly joined the conversation. “Who are you setting up?” she demanded, her witchy eyes wide with devilish excitement.

“Arya and Gendry,” Theon supplied. “Sansa says they’re in love.”

Margaery’s face broke into a cat-like grin, while Yara looked to be suppressing a smile. 

“I have absolutely no idea who Gendry is, but I wholeheartedly support Arya’s quest for love,” Margaery declared, leaning against the counter. 

Arya and Margaery were never going to be close friends, but Sansa found it amusing how involved they were on the periphery of each other’s lives. Arya was privy to more than a few of the details of Margaery’s ill fated romantic exploits, and Margaery had been responsible for organizing most of the dates that Sansa had coerced her sister into agreeing to. 

“Any bright ideas for the set up?” Sansa asked her friend hopefully. Margaery was always good for matchmaking help, for if there was one thing that she was an expert in, it was meddling in other people’s romantic lives.

She thought it over in silence, her brow furrowed and a hand placed delicately under her chin, while brown eyes stayed firmly trained on the ceiling.

While awaiting Margaery’s masterful judgement, Sansa noticed that Yara seemed to be finding the whole prospect of the matchmaking immensely entertaining, laughing quietly to herself. “Go to a movie with them,” Yara suggested with a bemused grin. 

It wasn’t a terrible idea, but it was an uninspired one, considering the four had just gone to the movies. Sansa was about to politely dismiss it when Margaery snapped back into action, a massively smug smile spreading across her face.

“I’m hosting a giant blow out with Loras in two weeks,” she began slowly. “I say there’s nothing like the slutty, slutty energy of a Tyrell house party to urge young love together.”

Not exactly how Sansa would have put it, but probably true. “Mar, that’s perfect,” she replied, grinning widely. “Although let’s hope they figure it out sooner than then,” she added, only half meaning it. A natural start to the relationship was fine, but being the architect of it all was more satisfying.

Margaery had no problem saying so out loud. “I, for one, hope that they start making out at my party so I can proudly admire my own handiwork.”

“They might do that anyway, if they get together sooner,” Yara pointed out, matter of fact.

“Yes, but it’s not the same,” Margaery insisted. “I want to be the _reason_ they’re making out.”

No one quite knew how to respond to that.

***

For all that Sansa loved Theon’s goofiness or Margaery’s melodrama, there was something deeply necessary about spending time with someone as calm as Jon once in a while. Sansa was never forced to restrain him from saying something stupid, or talk him down from a particularly hare-brained idea in the way that she was forced to with most of her friends or her younger sister. If anything, Jon was more grounded than Sansa herself, soft spoken and mellow and ready to listen.

There were at his house, Jon on the floor of the living room and Sansa on an armchair by the window, both reading quietly in an easy, comfortable silence. 

Or something approximating silence. Gendry and Arya were bickering loudly in the kitchen, and the noise drifted into the living room occasionally. Sansa wasn’t completely annoyed by the background sounds. Arya and Gendry were entertaining to listen to, especially when Arya would shout something along the lines of “Shut up!” or “I’m not!”, followed a clatter and declaration of pain on Gendry’s behalf.

Jon, however, seemed to desperately wish that he could block it all out, tensing from his spot sprawled on the carpet every time it got particularly raucous. 

 When Arya loudly declared that Gendry’s muscles weren’t _that_ impressive, Sansa watched as Jon sighed loudly and grimaced, his hands resting on either side of his temples. 

“Right, that’s it,” he said, completely and entirely done with listening to their odd mating ritual. “I need to go for a walk.” He glanced up at Sansa curled up on the chair with an old murder mystery she bought at a yard sale in hand. “Fancy coming with me?”

She raised her eyebrows teasingly. “You don’t like listening to them?”

He scowled, setting his book aside and standing up. “Are you coming or not?”

Sansa shrugged. “Sure, why not.” Lounging in the living room with a book was all well and good, but she was happy to get some fresh air. Besides, if things in the kitchen escalated, Sansa wasn’t quite as certain as Margaery that she wanted to be around to witness them.

Jon nodded in approval, gathering his coat and keys quickly to exit the house as fast as possible. Sansa followed him more laconically, amused by how flustered her older brother was. Jon always seemed relatively level headed and unbothered by things, but apparently the prospect of Arya flirting was too much to handle. 

“Thank the gods,” he breathed in relief, when Sansa had firmly shut the door behind them. “Y’know, I thought I was ok with this, but they’re so _obnoxious_ about it,” he complained. 

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s Arya, Jon, when has she ever _not_ been obnoxious?”

He grunted noncommittally. “Never.”

“Exactly,” Sansa replied knowingly. 

He turned to her, suddenly curious. “Have they, y’know, _done_ anything?” 

Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but Jon intervened, shaking his head vigorously. “Nope, nevermind, don’t want to hear it. Don’t want to hear it, don’t want to see it, don’t want to be involved _at all._ ” He threw his hands up in the air. “It’s none of my business, they can do what they want, I just don’t want to be involved!”

They lapsed into momentary silence, Jon silently fuming, his arms tensed as he shoved them back in his pockets. “They haven’t kissed or had sex yet, if that’s what you mean,” Sansa offered.

Jon looked over at his sister, stricken. “ _Sex?_ ” he groaned. “Goddammit, Sansa, I don’t want to think about that.”

“That was supposed to be reassuring!” she objected. “They’re _not_ doing anything!” She cocked her head for a moment, thinking about the ongoing plans to change that at Margaery’s party. “Well, not doing anything, yet _._ ”

Jon groaned. “Oh gods, please change the subject. Don’t want to talk about this anymore. Like I said, not involved-”

“-at all,” Sansa finished. “I know.” She struggled for a moment coming up with a different topic. “The weather’s been pretty good, hasn’t it?”

Jon jumped on it gratefully. “Oh, yeah, it’s been perfect in my opinion.”

Sansa nodded. “Yeah, no, I agree. Margaery hates it, though.”

Jon furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “Is she the crazy one?”

Sansa pursed her lips diplomatically. “Probably. Have you met her before?”

“Think so. At your birthday party, maybe? She cornered me into dancing with her?”

“Yeah, that was definitely Margaery,” Sansa replied, holding back a grin.

“How did you meet her?” Jon asked, his brow knit in confusion.

Sansa answered vaguely. “Oh, how does anyone meet anyone?” Strictly speaking, Sansa couldn’t actually remember meeting Margaery, because the first time she had attended one of the Tyrell sibling parties was the time she had gotten drunker than she’d ever been in her life. They’d become fast friends after Sansa woke up with Margaery’s name spelled wrong in her contacts the next morning, though. 

Jon looked as if he was going to probe further, but Sansa spoke first. “How did you end up friends with all the theater kids?”

“I’m not friends with theater kids,” Jon objected. 

“Oh, but what is Pypar’s Midwinter Murder Extravaganza if not live, participatory theater?” Sansa teased.

“Well, I mean-” Jon sighed. “Actually, that’s fair.”

By now the sun was starting to look like a pink smudge on the horizon, and even Sansa, with all her Northern stoicism, was getting chilled. 

“Margaery handed me a brownie the other day that I’m pretty sure is an edible,” she mentioned casually. It was definitely an edible, but sometimes she liked feigning innocence for Jon’s sake, so he could pretend he was supervising her experimentation, and not just joining in on the illegal activities. “Want to split it at my place?”

He nodded slowly, pretending to feel reluctant. “If you insist, I guess.”

Sansa grinned. “Robb would be so disappointed in us.”

Jon nodded. “Oh, on so many levels.” He paused. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Sansa confirmed with a conspiratorial smile, leading the way back to her flat in the fading light, and thinking about how disappointing Robb was probably a clear sign that they were doing something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murder mystery chapter is next hehehe


	9. In Which a Murder Takes Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note! remember when i mentioned my tumblr? that one is a mess so check out bogmanfics instead if ya want that sweet, sweet gendrya content
> 
> i think this chapter is roughly twice as long as everything else so far. i got a tad carried away and it's very silly, but i think it came out alright. it's also split into different povs, just because there's too much happening to different people at the same time.

Gendry had been seriously doubtful about Pyp’s ability to host a successful murder mystery party. He was certainly clever enough to write a plot, and it was true that he could do excellent impressions of other people that were sure to be entertaining, but he was also notoriously flakey and disorganized. Gendry assumed that Pypar’s Midwinter Murder Extravaganza would be much the same as poetry night—organized under a pretense of order and artistry, but mostly an excuse to get sloshed. If Pyp was particularly dedicated, he would leave out a few candles and put a decent tablecloth in the never-used formal dining room, maybe even make something vaguely classy like steak for dinner, but in the end it wouldn’t matter because the majority of the night would be spent drinking and accusing your friends of murder. No one would take it that seriously. 

Gendry was wrong. Pyp had not been joking about spending all year planning it out. Sure, he was never going to completely convince people that their mid century house was actually the ancestral home to northern gentry, but if you squinted your eyes a bit, Gendry could see the resemblance. 

Lace doilies and crystal tins dotted the side tables, and the usual stack of magazines in the living room was replaced with hardcover books in dusty leather cases. Gone was the TV and loose video game controllers, and in their place hung an oil painting of craggy seaside cliffs, flanked by two ceramic figures on the table below. Hidden around the house were other tasteful additions--blue glass vases, a marble bust of some old emperor, even a scratched old mirror that was most definitely haunted. Gendry had no idea where Pyp had gotten them all, until Grenn intervened. “He found them at garage sales,” he had told Gendry. “They’re not worth anything.” Even so, the house looked far more stately with their addition.

The dining table was formally set with more forks and spoons than Gendry could keep track of, and three ornate candelabras illuminated the room in a hazy, eerie glow. Unfortunately, Pyp explained that, for storyline purposes, the murder would have occurred before dinner, and therefore everyone would be too stressed to eat, rendering all the placements for show. Truthfully, it seemed like an excuse to avoid making an authentic seven course meal, but Gendry couldn’t completely blame him for shirking that particular duty.

And anyway, seven course meal or not, the atmosphere of the house was palpable, almost as if they really were northern lords preparing for a dinner party in the dead of winter. 

Gendry adjusted the bow tie Jon had lent him in anticipation. People were supposed to start arriving any minute. 

“Here,” Pyp offered, handing Gendry a manilla folder with his name on it. “No one else is here yet, but you can start looking it over now.”

Gendry wasn’t completely sure what he was supposed to do with it, but Pyp distributed identical seeming folders to Jon and Grenn, who immediately flipped them open. Gendry did the same. Inside, it looked to be a character sheet of some sort.

 _Durran Cassel,_ he read, _servant boy who answers to Vayon the butler, secret lover of Alys Wormwood._

He skimmed over the rest of the information. More background, a few secrets that he was apparently privy to and could only reveal under the proper circumstances, and a massive notice at the bottom. _YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR BARTENDING. This is part of your character and as a respectful participant you are required to perform this duty._

Gendry sighed. And he was just starting to get into the idea of pretending to be a lord for the night. “Pyp, I’m not going to have to spend the whole time mixing drinks for people, am I?”

Pyp adjusted his glue on mustache. “No…” His tone of voice indicated that it was, in fact, a definite possibility.

Jon shot Gendry a sympathetic look. “Just go with it,” he mouthed over the top of his own sheet.

He had told Gendry much the same earlier that day, while Pyp had been running around trying to make everything perfect and stressing everyone else out in the process. “Just go along with it, get drunk along the way, and pretend the convoluted plot makes sense. It’s a lot more fun that way,” Jon had promised, after a disgruntled Gendry had been kicked out of the kitchen for daring to use his laptop while Pyp was setting the historical scene.

Gendry exhaled loudly, while Pyp looked on hopefully. He half felt like making things more difficult, but he supposed he’d just try to enjoy himself. It wasn’t like he was getting out of it at this point. 

“Who’s playing Alys Wormwood then?” he asked with a distinct note of concern. Secret lovers wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to pretend to be with just anyone. 

“Arya,” Pyp whispered back to him, waggling his eyebrows. “Have fun with that.” He clapped Gendry on the back with a laugh, walking away to answer the doorbell that had just rung.

Fuck. Gendry could easily go along with that, probably more so than he should.

***

Grumbling as she almost tripped on her dress _again_ while ascending the porch steps, Arya cursed her decision to get ready with Sansa and Margaery before the party.

It was so bloody unfair that Sansa, who loved elegant jewelry and blood red lips, was wearing a maid’s uniform, complete with sensible lace up boots and a white apron, while Arya, who had ripped both of the dresses she had last been coerced into wearing, was the one stumbling around in heels and a slinky green slip dress. Somehow she had let Sansa talk her into putting on some makeup as well, and kept forgetting she wasn’t supposed to touch all the goop that Margaery had applied around her eyes.

At least they had left her hair alone. Margaery’s updo had taken Sansa ages to pin up, and she had gotten antsy waiting for them to finish. 

Truthfully, the whole process of getting ready made her antsy, though. Arya had nothing against other people getting all dressed up and enjoying it, but she would have rather walked across hot coals than let her sister and Margaery treat her like their own personal doll again. They had glued fake eyelashes on her, for gods sake. It was uncomfortable, and more than that, it was _mortifying._

Sansa rang the bell, while Arya and Margaery stood on the porch behind her, Arya shivering in the thin shawl that her sister insisted would be enough for the short amount of time they’d be outside. For the record, it wasn’t. 

She tried to scratch at her nose, but Margaery swatted her hand away before she could touch her face. 

“Absolutely not,” Margaery said, looking completely at ease in her gold beaded dress and ostentatious jewelry. “You’re going to ruin my craftsmanship.”

Arya made a face at her. “I don’t _want_ your stupid craftsmanship,” she shot back. “You and Sansa practically held me down.”

Margaery shrugged, before crossing her arms stubbornly. “Tough titties, love. You’ve already _got_ my craftsmanship, and not to toot my own horn, but you look _stupid_ hot. Like some ethereal lady of the misty woods, but angrier and more approachable.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I always look stupid hot, that has nothing to do with your craftsmanship.”

Margaery let out a laugh, and nodded approvingly. “You’re right, babe, you are and you should own that,” she conceded. “But those misty woods vibes?” she added, gesturing at Arya’s figure. “ _That_ was all my doing.”

Arya eyed Margaery with a mixture of contempt and complete confusion. She hadn’t asked Margaery to do any of it, and yet she was somehow supposed to be grateful. “What are you talking about? What the fuck does misty woods vibes even _mean?”_ It was just a stupid green dress and a bit of makeup.

Sansa took the opportunity to butt in. “It just captures your vibe somehow.” She appraised Arya once more, biting her lip as she looked her up and down. “Like... it just feels like you should be wearing this on a misty bluff along a rocky shore line, and it’s about to storm, and there’s pine trees everywhere, and it’s magical but a little dark,” she remarked, drifting into the dreamy tone she used to take on when talking about fairy tales and romance novels.

“And the wind is whipping around your face,” Margaery added.

Sansa’s blue eyes widened. “And you’re staring out over the choppy water…”

“...waiting for your lover to return to you,” Margaery completed, not even looking at Arya anymore, instead staring off in the distance with a gooey expression. 

 Arya glanced between the two of them, staring blankly. Sometimes she just didn’t understand her sister or Margaery. 

She was about to change the subject when, finally, Pyp opened the door. He looked completely ridiculous with his monocle and fake mustache. “Welcome, ladies. Please, follow me.” He held out a gloved hand, bowing slightly. Margaery took it enthusiastically.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, eyelashes aflutter. “You’re too kind.” Arya resisted the urge to let her eyes roll back all the way into her skull. She was rapidly approaching her limit of time spent with Margaery for the day, possibly even past it already.

Pyp seemed to enjoy her overwrought performance though, raising an eyebrow approvingly. “Oh you’ll be an excellent Lady Huxby,” he commented, handing Margaery a manilla folder. “Read this, and then go find Jon.”

Practically bouncing with each step, Margaery waltzed off in the direction of Jon, who Arya immediately felt a stab of sympathy for. Neither of them were built to handle Margaery Tyrell for longer than a few minutes at a time.

“Who’s next?” Pyp asked with a grin. 

Sansa raised a hand. “I assume I’m the maid?” she guessed. Probably a reasonable assumption based on the outfit she’d been told to wear.

“That you are,” Pyp agreed, his own enthusiasm level far higher than Sansa’s. With a small smile, she accepted her folder and headed off towards Theon.

“And that leaves you,” Pyp said, turning back to Arya. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before,” he remarked with mild surprise.

Arya nodded tensely. “Yup. It’s very surprising stuff, blah blah blah. Just give me the folder.” She held out her hand expectantly.

Silently, Pyp offered it to her. She snatched it quickly, ready to get this whole thing over with. “Gendry’s in the kitchen,” he informed her, suppressing a smile. 

“Thanks,” she said flatly, not really meaning it as she flipped through the pages with mild disinterest. “I’ll go find him.”

Gendry was indeed in the kitchen, serving people drinks at the island in the middle. He looked uncomfortable in his formal wear. Good, but uncomfortable. She understood why. Gendry was meant to wear jeans and an ugly t-shirt or flannel like he always did. Anything else was just strange.

He caught her eye as soon as she sidled up to his station, not even able to hide his shock at her own appearance. 

She squirmed under his gaze, feeling strangely exposed in this stupid dress that she didn’t even pick and he would definitely make fun of her for wearing, but maybe a little pleased too. It was nice sometimes, to be noticed.

“I see Pyp’s got you at work already,” she commented dryly, pressing her stomach up against the edge of the island, her palms resting on top of the granite surface. “How much are you getting paid?”

 Gendry was staring at her like an idiot. “What?” he asked, suddenly snapping back into focus.

“How much are you getting paid,” Arya repeated, leaning in closer across the island.

“Oh, um, absolutely nothing,” he admitted, his voice gaining a note of irritation by the end. “It’s 'part of my character', apparently,” he continued, making air quotes with his hands.

Arya let out a laugh. “Pyp conned you into bartending for free, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Gendry grumbled. He pointed at her folder. “Did you read about your character yet?”

She shook her head. “Haven’t bothered.” She had mostly agreed to this party to get Sansa to shut up about it, and didn’t particularly care about acting out a character. It was so much work, reading the thing and trying to find the murderer. Arya was planning on doing the absolute bare minimum.

Gendry raised his eyebrows. “Might want to look at it. We’re secret lovers, apparently.”

Arya furrowed her brow. “What?” 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!” Pyp called above the din of people introducing themselves and finding their friends. Arya tried to open her folder discreetly while he spoke. “I will be your host, Lord Astor. Now, there are a few rules to go over, before I lead you to the scene of the crime and we let the mystery commence. Firstly, when asking other guests questions, remember—” 

Arya tuned him out to read the contents of her folder. Rules were generally meant to be broken, anyway.

_Alys Wormwood—wayward younger sister of dead Madelyn Wormwood. Secret lover to Durran Cassel, poor servant boy—_

Well. There it was. She and Gendry were secret lovers for a night, it would appear.

She couldn’t decide if it was good or bad news. Arya was happy for the excuse to hang around him most of the night, making snide comments about everything and abusing the open bar, but it did make things slightly awkward. Really, it would if it was anyone she was friends with. It wasn’t because it was Gendry in particular.

Really.

Around her, other people started moving to follow Pyp. “Where are they going?” she hissed at Gendry.

He shrugged and leaned down to reply, still significantly taller even with her wearing heels. “We’re going upstairs to look at the crime scene, I guess.” 

It wasn’t as if Arya had anything better to do. Side by side with Gendry, she followed the crowd out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Arya wobbled as they ascended the stairs, clutching the railing tight to regain her balance. Next to her, she could see Gendry smirking.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were going to,” she insisted. She knew he must have been finding the prospect of her in a dress and makeup entertaining since she walked in, though they had yet to formally address it. 

“You can take my arm, if m’lady requires it,” he offered, all false courtesies.

She practically growled at him as they walked down the hall to the scene of the crime, which Arya guessed had been staged in Pyp’s bedroom. “I don’t require it.” She paused. “And I hate being dressed up like this. It’s stupid.”

They squeezed into the back corner of Pyp’s room, craning for a look at the death scene he had created. Quietly, Gendry turned to her. “I don’t think it’s stupid,” he said. “I think you look nice actually,” he added, a sincerity in his tone that surprised her.

Arya flushed, though she wished she hadn’t. Before she could respond, Pyp cleared his throat loudly. “As you can all see, Lady Madelyn Wormwood lies dead before us, shot through the head. The revolver is next to her, though it has no fingerprints to be seen on it. We know the killer is among us, as no one else could have made it through the snow... Take a few moments to notice any important details, and then feel free to go downstairs and ask one another questions.”

Arya rested a hand on Gendry’s shoulder for balance, peering over Sam’s head to look at poor, dead Madelyn Wormwood, who appeared to be a cardboard cutout of a _Downton Abbey_ character with a red hole in her forehead. There didn’t seem to be many details to speak of, though Arya couldn’t say she was looking very closely. She just wanted to go back downstairs.

“Right,” she said, addressing her secret lover with an even stare. “First things first, I need a drink.”

Gendry grinned. “Funnily enough, I know how to make those. I’m hoping Pyp remembered the paper umbrellas I requested.”

Arya groaned, remembering their earlier debate on the subject. “What is your obsession with those?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t say anything as she grabbed hold of his arm for support. Her heels were already hurting her feet, and though she was loath to admit it, holding onto Gendry helped. For a moment, he tensed, but didn’t act as if anything were out of the ordinary beyond that. 

“I’m not obsessed, I just don’t understand why you hate them,” he countered. 

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t understand why you’re obsessed,” she replied, smirking.

He rolled his eyes, though his mouth curved into a smile all the same, and Arya was struck by how strangely _right_ it felt then, leaning into his shoulder and bickering about paper umbrellas. 

Shit. Those were the kind of thoughts that ruined a friendship.

She really needed that drink.

***

Sansa collapsed onto a chair in the kitchen, taking a well deserved break from serving cocktails to drink one herself. She hadn’t ever taken Theon that seriously when he complained about playing the butler every year, but now she couldn’t imagine why he put up with it, even for interesting gossip tidbits. She’d barely had a chance to do anything fun, and was beginning to suspect that Pyp was putting her to work to avoid hiring a real bartender or catering service.

Technically, she supposed, Gendry was a real bartender, albeit one who hadn’t been manning his station since the third glass of his weird green drink. He called it wildfyre, or something like that, and him and Arya had a combined seven glasses polished off between them. At some point they had migrated to the living room, and were currently interrogating Sam and Grenn. Arya had long since ditched her heels, but seemed to wobble a little anyway when she thrust an accusatory finger at Sam, her other free hand clutching at Gendry’s arm.  

Not that he seemed much better, following Arya’s manic lead and bumbling about. They were both pissed out of their minds, which would have been cute, except Sansa was still annoyed at Gendry for failing to help her or Theon. 

Whatever. She was done playing up the serving part of servant. From now on, Sansa would be investigating the stupid murder or nursing a drink, and only of those two options.

Theon came over to join her, leaning against the table next to her.

She turned to him curiously. “Theon, how do you put up with this every year?” It was the first time she’d ever gotten stuck being a glorified waitress at one of these things and she was already sick of it.

He shrugged, looking genuinely taken aback by her concern. “I dunno. It’s not so bad once you get in the flow of things. Like working a shift at Iron-brewed.”

Sansa was aghast. “It shouldn’t feel like work! This is supposed to be fun for us!” She used her glass to gesture to Arya and Gendry, spilling some in the process. “That’s what we should be doing! Asking questions while piss drunk!” 

Easily seduced by her fiery rhetoric, Theon nodded appreciatively. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “It’s completely unfair!” By now he was getting fired up as well.

“It is completely unfair!” Sansa declared, slamming her drink against the table.

“It is!” Theon agreed, looking at Sansa with eyes blazing. She handed him her glass, and Theon took a large swig. 

Sansa raised her eyebrows, the inkling of a plot forming in her brain. “You know what we have to do?”

Theon nodded vigorously. “Do shots.”

Sansa frowned. “No, I was going to say strike.” Sansa wasn’t sure what they were going to demand, seeing as no one was really forcing them to do their job anyway, but it seemed like the right thing to do. If she was going to be robbed of a romantic night in costume and thrust into the gritty, classist reality of the time period, she was going to glamorize social change instead.

 “Right, right. That’s what I meant to say,” Theon replied unconvincingly. “We don’t have to do shots.”

Sansa met his eye, her brow knit as she considered his proposition more carefully. They were significantly less drunk than the rest of the guests, and it was probably more fun to play act a strike while drunk. “Well, actually that’s not a bad idea. Let’s do shots first.”

She stood up and grabbed a half empty bottle of vodka from the wide selection of alcohol at Gendry’s makeshift bar. Theon, thankfully on the same wavelength as her, was already grabbing two shot glasses from the counter.

Sansa carelessly filled them, spilling some liquor on the table in the process. She handed one to Theon, and took the other for herself. 

Before she could begin a countdown, Theon threw his head back and gulped it down, sighing loudly and grimacing.

That was fine too, she supposed, and before she could remind herself what a terrible idea it was, Sansa tipped her own glass down her throat. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and burned, but Sansa didn’t care.

“Another,” she said with steely resolve, and Theon nodded.

It took a few more before they were well and ready to strike, and Sansa was already starting to feel the effect of the alcohol.

“Theon, my good sir,” she said, locking eyes with him. “I think it’s time.” 

“Revolution!” Theon shouted, and a few guests that Sansa didn’t recognize gave them strange looks. 

“Strike,” she clarified, apologetically. “Peaceful strike.”

“I thought we were revolting,” Theon said with a frown.

Sansa stared at him blankly. “Striking does not mean revolting.” Gods, he never listened to her.

“Right,” Theon agreed. “But there was kinda an implied subtext that we would revolt,” he insisted. “Like, we were doing shots to gear up for the communist uprising…” When Sansa only looked at him with more confusion than before, he trailed off. “Nevermind. Striking is fine.”

Communist uprising? Sansa wasn’t sure she would ever quite understand the delicate intricacies of Theon’s stupidity.

Though, to be fair, it wasn’t as if a fake strike was that much less crazy. Maybe they should just go for it and overthrow the entire system. Who was Sansa to judge communism, really? Her head was already foggy from the drink, and she could barely walk in a straight line, much less think clearly. Mostly she just wanted to be drunk and silly for a night.

Against what little better judgement that remained, she acquiesced to Theon’s idea. “No, you’re right. Let’s fucking revolt.”

***

There were two things Jon had learned about Margaery Tyrell while playing her husband over the course of a night. One, she was most definitely unhinged, and two, she was the exact kind of unhinged that you wanted at a party like this. 

He didn’t think he could stand her in any other context, but she had already splashed three people with whatever cocktail she was drinking, and fainted on command twice. Sansa had not been kidding when she promised Margaery would enhance the party going experience.

“Lord Sunderby!” Margaery screeched from her seat next to Jon in the dining room. “You despicable, horrible man, I know what you did!” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, my lady,” Grenn deflected, wincing.

Margaery had been flinging wild accusations at everyone all night, and they had all quickly learned that her judgements came fast, furious, and along with something being thrown or splashed on them. Drink splashing was more a sure bet in terms of hitting its target, especially as the night had progressed and Margaery’s aim had gotten worse, but the moment when she had nailed Pyp in the face with her left shoe was probably the highlight of the night. 

Jon dreaded the inevitable moment that Margaery would turn on him. For now she seemed solidly focused on Grenn, though.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she seethed. “You killed my pet snake, didn’t you!” Margaery stood up, glass in hand. “Didn’t you!” she repeated.

Grenn barely had a moment to defend himself. “My la—“ Margaery dumped the last of her strawberry daiquiri on his head, drenching him in the sticky red liquid. 

Jon sat back and watched the show, nursing his whiskey and chuckling to himself. This was the most fun he’d had at Pyp’s party in years.

Grenn looked at Margaery, his hair dripping sugary red liquor all over his suit and the table. “Was the pet snake even part of the plot?” he asked in bewilderment. “My folder didn’t say anything about killing one.”

“Oh, well I’ve been developing a rich backstory,” Margaery explained, her voice suddenly assuming her normal timber. “And it seems the most realistic thing for my character to do is to use this as an opportunity to confront people about personal grudges.”

“So you’re just making things up?” Grenn asked, aghast.

Margaery shrugged, sending him an innocent smile. “This whole thing is made up. It’s always better if you take matters into your own hands.”

It was true. While Jon had some semblance of the plot that Pyp had created, Margaery had been directing them to largely ignore it. His sisters seemed to have gotten just as sidetracked, Sansa off yelling about socialism and workers rights, and Arya seemingly disappeared for the past hour, doing who knows what.

Shaking his head, a disgruntled Grenn stormed out of the room.

Margaery turned to Jon, a playful grin drawn out across her face. “I’m thinking we confront the medium next, and coerce her into hosting a seance.”

Jon shrugged, though he returned her smile. “Why not? Lead the way, Lady Huxby.”

He was _very_ curious to see how this seance would play out. 

***

“So tell me, Edd,” Arya began, sitting with her feet up on the dirty card table she and Gendry had set up. “Where were you when the murder took place?”

Jon’s exasperated coworker leaned across to respond. “I told you, I was taking a piss.”

“Bullshit!” Arya sat up and slammed her hand against the table, shocking Edd, whose eyes went wide. 

Beside her, Gendry slid a paper cup of water to him. “It’s a lot easier if you just tell us the truth,” he assured him, wearing a sympathetic smile. 

Hesitantly, Edd accepted the gesture and took a sip. “Thanks for the water, but I swear I’m telling the truth. Will you please let me out of this room?”

‘This room’ happened to be the closet halfway down the hall on the first floor. It was currently in use as an interrogation room, where Arya had quite successfully managed to extract important information from the other guests, through no small amount of threatening and cajoling. Gendry insisted that if she was going to be an ass about it, he’d better play the good cop, but Arya wasn’t convinced he had done much to help at all. All he seemed to do was act sympathetic and offer people water.

Arya narrowed her eyes. “You really think you’re getting out of here before you tell me something useful, you lying son of a bitch?”

Edd opened his mouth and closed it several times before he finally managed to speak. “Who are you two even playing?”

Gendry pointed his thumb at Arya. “She’s the dead woman’s sister, and I’m her secret lover,” he said casually. “We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this.”

Arya nodded, her face still an angry mask. It was fun to act out a role, so long as the role was a noir detective and not just a stupid priss like Pyp had wanted. “Now you wanna tell us something or just sit there?”

Edd looked just about ready for this all to be over. “Tell you something, I guess.”

Gendry nodded. “Excellent choice.”

Arya rolled her eyes. He was such a pushover. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” she started, leaning forward with both palms on the table. “Where were you when the murder took place?”

“Doing cocaine in the bathroom,” Edd admitted. “But I swear that’s all.”

Arya looked at Gendry, before they both nodded in satisfaction. “Right, you’re free to go,” he informed Edd cheerfully. “You’ve been very helpful.” 

Arya pushed the door open behind her, and muttering something about drunken idiots, Edd shuffled around their table and out of the closest.

“That went quite well, I think,” Gendry said, sounding pleased with himself.

Arya scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

Gendry gasped in irritation. “What are you talking about? That was all me! You just freaked him out!”

“Freaked him out enough to confess,” Arya countered. “All you did was waste a perfectly good paper cup. Are you trying to kill the environment or something?”

Gendry spluttered, and she smirked at him. He was terrible at comebacks while drunk. “It was one cup!”

“Everyone thinks it’s just one cup,” Arya replied, shaking her head in disappointment. “But it all adds up.”

Sighing, Gendry seemed to think further argument wasn’t worth it. He stood up and offered his arm to her. “Shall we refill our own cups before finding another victim, then, dear secret lover?”

Arya took it. “I’d like that very much.”

They walked out of the closet with their arms linked, which was fine because it was just pretend. It definitely wasn’t because Arya liked it. 

Definitely not.

***

Sansa’s night had gotten considerably better ever since she and Theon had decided to revolt. Things were so much simpler when you had a clear mission in mind, even if said mission was proving difficult to accomplish.

No one seemed to take their socialist uprising seriously. Granted, Sansa hadn’t meant it that seriously, but she felt that if anyone was truly in character, they would at least pretend to be a little bit concerned. Stuck up aristocrats were generally not fond of the working class seizing power, even in modern times. Stupid Joffrey had made that very clear, with his constant dismissal of everyone he thought below him, and vicious attacks on anyone who dared disagree with him.

But now wasn’t the time to fixate on how horrible a person her ex-boyfriend had been. Sansa had done that plenty before, and it mostly made her angry and sad. Tonight was about fun, it was about being young and stupid and hanging out with the guy she liked. 

Tonight was the time to write a new and improved communist manifesto.

It was what she and Theon had decided on doing, after realizing that there were no discernible means of production to seize in the house. Sansa realized afterwards that their absence should have been obvious, but she blamed their poor critical thinking skills on an alcohol fueled combination of stupidity and over zealotry. 

Their manifesto, though...well. That was going to change everything.

Or at the very least, it was an entertaining way to spend the rest of her night.

“Everyone gets a puppy,” she suggested to Theon, leaning across the kitchen table and gesturing for him to write it down. She wasn’t sure how he had ended up as the scribe with his terrible, chicken scratch handwriting, but at this point her own fine motor skills had failed her, so she couldn’t really complain.

He cocked his head, deep in thought as he very rudely failed to transcribe her suggestion. “What if someone’s allergic to dogs?”

Sansa puzzled over that dilemma for a moment. It was a valid point to raise. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “Those people get a kitten instead.”

Theon nodded, accepting her solution, but still failing to write anything down. “Right, but what if someone’s allergic to both?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Damn. Also a very valid point. 

“Then they can get a lizard or a snake,” she suggested helpfully. No one was allergic to those, right? They didn’t have fur.

“Ok,” Theon agreed. “So everyone gets a puppy or a kitten or a lizard?”

Sansa nodded as he rattled the list of animals off. “Right, but also snakes are an option,” she clarified.

Theon seemed confused. “Don’t snakes count as lizards?”

“No, snakes and lizards are different.” Sansa was drunk, but she wasn’t _that_ drunk. She was confident that Theon was wrong.

“No, I’m pretty sure snakes are a subset of lizards,” he insisted, setting his jaw stubbornly.

“Do you mean reptiles?” Sansa asked, trying to understand. “Snakes and lizards and turtles are all reptiles.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up. “We should have turtles as an option!”

Their disagreement forgotten, Sansa nodded her head enthusiastically. “We should! Turtles are awesome.”

“Turtles are great, man.”

Sansa took the opportunity to launch into a long and tragic tale about the year that she and her siblings shared pet turtles, which led into a discussion of Theon’s beta fish, which reminded Sansa of when Robb went through a phase of being scared by parrotfish, and soon enough the pair were close to crying while laughing about something completely unrelated.

It certainly hadn’t been the way she expected the night to go, owing to its distinct lack of classy, period intrigue, but Sansa thought this might be better.

***

“Ok,” Arya said, leaning her head back against the wall. They’d given up on interrogations, and had resorted to just talking outside their closet. “So. List of suspects again.”

Gendry stared at her dumbly. She was so pretty right now, her hair all mussed up, sitting on the floor next to him in that tight green dress, and he kept getting distracted by it.

She was always pretty, green dress and makeup or not, but the world felt fuzzy and warm tonight, and it was hard not to keep noticing the fact.

And normally every rational part of Gendry would be telling him to stop noticing, but he could have sworn that she was looking at him too. She had grabbed his arm earlier, hadn’t she? And she’d barely let go of him for the rest of the night, and Gendry _knew_ it wasn’t because she kept losing her balance, because there were plenty of other things to lean on, and Arya Stark didn’t use other people for support unless she absolutely had to, and maybe not even then. It wasn’t because they were pretending to be secret lovers either, because Arya would never do something like that just to play a part, he was certain.

“Gendry!” she exclaimed, waving her hand to catch his attention. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he assured her. “One hundred percent attention.”

She raised an eyebrow. How did she do that, raise just one eyebrow? “Are you though?”

“Yes!” he replied, annoyed that she could doubt him. He was listening; it wasn’t _his_ fault that she was so pretty, with her round gray eyes and heart shaped lips.

Arya stared him down, checking to see if he meant it. “Good,” she said finally. “Good. This is important stuff I’m telling you.”

He didn’t doubt it, waiting expectantly for her to continue. “It’s not Theon, because it’s always the butler,” she mused, the words coming slower and less articulate than normal. “And it’s not Pyp because he has a monocle, and people with monocles are terrible murderers.”

“They are?” Gendry had never heard that before.

“They’re too stupid and pretentious to just buy glasses, and you think they’re capable of murdering someone?” She looked at him as if he was an idiot.

“I guess that’s true,” Gendry agreed in an attempt to pacify her.

“Of course it’s true,” Arya scoffed. “Now where was I?”

“Monocles?"

“Before that.”

“Pyp?”

“After that.”

Gendry frowned. “Don’t think there was anything in between.”

“You’re useless,” Arya sighed, shaking her head lazily. “Completely useless.”

“Sorry m’lady.”

He tried to dodge her poorly aim whack on the arm and nearly failed, which Gendry felt just about summarized how drunk they were.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, scowling.

“Milady, milady, milady, mi—ow!” This time her punch in the shoulder hit its target perfectly.

“Can I finish or not?” Arya asked huffily. Her anger made her possibly prettier, eyebrows drawn down and jaw jutted out ever so slightly.

“You can finish,” Gendry relented, rubbing his arm where she had nailed him, Really, she had been the one to sidetrack them first, bringing up monocles and their impact on murder capabilities, but it was probably best not to mention that part.

Her expression softened before she spoke. “Right, so here’s the thing,” she explained, leaning in close for dramatic effect, and also causing Gendry’s heart rate to spike. “I’ve investigated everyone but you. How do I know you’re not the murderer?”

When she pulled away, she stared him down triumphantly, challenging him to pose an acceptable answer to her question. 

“I’m not the murderer!” Gendry spluttered. “I’m your secret lover!” 

The corner of Arya’s mouth quirked up, and she raised a single dark brow. “Prove it,” she insisted, a devilish glint in her eyes. She was daring him to do something, but Gendry wasn’t confident that he was on the same page as her about what. 

He raised his gaze to her level, and it felt, for a moment, like everything was happening in slow motion—him hesitantly leaning towards her face, her eyes betraying surprise and amusement before she tilted her head to meet him. And then his mouth was crashing into hers, meeting in a spectacular display of electricity and warmth, leaving him breathless and flushed and hungry for more of her.

She tasted like the alcohol they had drunk, with the same dizzying effect on him, the whole room spinning except for her, grounding and lifting him all at once as she shifted to face him.

His back was pressed against the wall now as she sat on her knees in front of him, one hand at his cheek as she leaned in with a desperate impatience—so very like Arya, aggressive and combative, even while kissing. She bit his lower lip and he let out a small moan involuntarily. He could feel her laugh against his lips in response, and then they were diving back in, harder and more insistent than before.

She guided one of his hands to her chest, and he cupped her breast clumsily as they kissed, shifting to get as close to one another as possible. He was desperate to feel all of her, her touch softer and warmer than he might have imagined. 

They were sloppy and inelegant and uncoordinated in every sense, but Gendry thought it might have been the best kiss he’d ever had. He wanted to pick up her small frame and deposit her on his bed for more, and he thought if he asked she would say she wanted it too, but they were drunk and it wasn’t right, he shouldn’t have even been kissing her in the first place, except he didn’t think he could stop, the heady rush of her and everything about her was intoxicating. 

“Arya?” And just like that it was over. Arya drew away in surprise, and Gendry looked up, unable to meet the eye of the brother of the girl he had just been feeling up. Jon, to be fair, didn’t seem like he particularly wanted to look at Gendry either, inexplicably drenched in what looked like red juice.

Gendry had no idea what to say in this particular scenario, left speechless and spluttering, though he was always like that when something unexpected happened. Arya was supposed to be the one that didn’t get flustered, who always had a snarky remark for everything, but even she looked at her brother dumbly, unable to explain away what he had just seen. 

“Hi Jon,” she said, stricken. 

“I’m just going to, um, go...somewhere, or whatever,” Jon said, his face beet red by that point. 

Arya cleared her throat. “No it’s fine, I was just leaving.” She stood up unsteadily, blushing almost as much as Jon, and bolted for a different room.

Jon watched her run off, and then found himself staring down at Gendry, who really wished he could just disappear right about then. After a few seconds of painfully tense silence, Jon managed to dip his head in acknowledgement. Slowly, he raised a finger and pointed down the hall. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom now…” He sidled off in a hurry as well.

And suddenly Gendry was sitting against the wall alone, his lips still tingling from the ghost of her presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terrible ending, i know. so sorry about that.
> 
> your comments mean the world to me though!


	10. In Which Things are Horribly Awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so i was hoping to update a while ago, but then life happened, as it is wont to do, so sorry about that!!
> 
> there's actually a bit more that's supposed to happen in this chapter, but i'm splitting it up just so i can get something up. i'm leaving for japan for two weeks, which is super exciting, but i'm also not likely to get much writing done, lol. 
> 
> i'm also moving into college the week after!? which will be insane and also will slow progress on this, so just a heads up that updates will probably take a lot longer from now on :(
> 
> anyway, sorry to ramble about my life, and enjoy this horribly angsty chapter!

Arya awoke to a pounding headache and the taste of regret thick on her tongue. 

She didn’t want to get up. Her body was sore and her mind foggy, but more than anything else, Arya had the distinct sense that she should feel guilty about more than a few stupids things she had done, without even being fully conscious of what those things were yet. 

This was what a true hangover felt like, she decided. Not just dry mouth and mild malaise, but an all encompassing indulgence in shame and self reproach.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that Arya was, in fact, in her own bed, though how she had ended up there remained somewhat unclear. She was still wearing the dress from last night, now creased and wrinkled from passing out in it, with one strap sliding down her arm. Her pillow was covered in a deep black smudge, and the fake eyelashes Margaery had glued on were now smushed into the fabric where Arya’s face had been.

She’d been massively wasted last night, that much was clear, but at least she hadn’t blacked out. The memory of it all came back to her slowly, almost like it had happened to someone else—the crime scene, the wildfyre, the interrogations, and holy fucking shit–

She had kissed him. She, Arya Stark, had kissed him, Gendry Waters. 

And it had been a good kiss, there was no point in denying that. It had been messy and awkward and infinitely better than any of the goons that Arya usually hooked up with out of boredom. Gendry might have been tall and built like a tank, but his touch was gentle and earnest, sweet almost. 

Though that wasn’t to say the kiss hadn’t been hot. It had been very hot. Very, extremely, _excruciatingly_ hot. Arya could still remember the way his lips had felt pressed against hers, the brush of his fingers at her chest, the soft—

Arya interrupted herself. She was getting off topic. There were more important things to worry about, namely that Jon had seen them, and she had run off, and everything was currently fucked up in more ways than Arya could count. 

On the side table, her phone buzzed. It almost felt like too much effort to sit up and grab it, but Arya also couldn’t stand the thought of sitting still with her own thoughts for another second, and took the distraction gratefully.

**Sansa:** Hey, sorry I was a complete wreck who failed to look out for her little sister last night!!

**Sansa:** Shireen texted me that you got home fine so that’s good at least

**Sansa:** If it makes you feel better I feel like complete shit this morning

**Arya:** sansa you literally don’t have to be sorry

**Arya:** stop apologizing for things that aren’t your responsibility

**Sansa:** You’re right, sorry

**Arya:** STOP

**Arya:** YOU DID IT AGAIN

**Sansa:** Oh fuck I did

**Sansa:** I told you this morning was a little rough

**Sansa:** How are you doing, by the way?

**Arya:** terrible. think i died in the night. don’t want to talk about it

**Sansa:** Wow, relatable

**Sansa:** I woke up passed out on the sofa next to a piece of paper that said “eat the rich” and “everyone gets a puppy/kitten/lizard/snake/turtle”

**Sansa:** I thought it was a brilliant piece of writing last night??

**Arya:** oh yea i vaguely remember you and theon running around and saying you were revolting

**Sansa:** Yup…

**Sansa:** Possibly got a bit carried away

**Sansa:** But it’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine

**Sansa:** Jon is making pancakes if you can handle walking over

**Arya:** for undisclosed reasons i am currently unable to face jon 

**Arya:** so i will pass on that

**Sansa:** What?!

**Sansa:** Wait, what happened??

**Arya:** i told you it’s undisclosed 

**Sansa:** ARYA

**Sansa:** STOP BEING CRYPTIC 

**Sansa:** I hate it when you do this

**Sansa:** Just tell me

**Arya:** absolutely not

**Arya:** enjoy your pancakes though

**Sansa:** I’m going to ask Jon about this

**Sansa:** He’ll tell me

**Sansa:** He’s weak about these kinds of things

**Arya:** oh my gods don’t

**Arya:** i’ll never forgive you

**Sansa:** Too late

**Sansa:** Asking him

**Sansa:** He just blushed a ton and changed the subject??

**Sansa:** Gendry spit out his coffee lol

**Sansa:** Does he know?

**Sansa:** Should I ask him what happened??

**Arya:** SANSA STOP

**Arya:** holy shit i hate you

**Arya:** oh my godddd

**Arya:** i’ll kill you

**Sansa:** Is that a threat?

**Arya:** was that not clear?

**Arya:** bc yes that was absolutely a threat

**Arya:** and i have to go i can’t talk to you anymore without a surge of blinding rage

**Sansa:** Boooo

**Sansa:** You’re still coming over tonight, right?

**Arya:** ….yes

**Arya:** but i still hate you

**Arya:** it’s only bc i want your food

**Sansa:** Right of course

**Sansa:** Makes sense

**Sansa:** You can tell me all about this secret drama with Jon that apparently only Gendry is clued in on

**Arya:** none of that is happening

**Arya:** just go eat your stupid pancakes

**Sansa:** Fine. See ya tonight

Arya fell back onto her pillow with a strangled scream. Her sister meant well, but someday Sansa was going to drive Arya to homicide, honestly and truly. The very thought of Jon and Gendry in the same room left her cringing, not to mention Sansa bringing up the…incident, or whatever you wanted to call it. Texting her sister had completely failed as a tactic to take her mind off of last night’s stupidity.

Her phone vibrated again on her chest, and Arya looked at it with a groan.

**Gendry:** Hey, we should probably talk about last night 

He was right, they should talk about it, but Arya struggled with how to answer his extremely loaded question. She couldn’t focus properly, and everything she thought of saying sounded jumbled and wrong. How did you explain how much you liked a kiss, while simultaneously implying that you wanted to pretend it never happened? Why was she so preoccupied with explaining how much she liked the kiss? Did she want to kiss him again?

Arya sighed heavily. These were questions she didn’t want to think about at the moment. 

She quickly deleted the senseless string of words she had drafted and turned off her phone, but the new notification still flashed across the screen.

**Gendry:** Can we meet up? I want to see you

_I want to see you_

It was a simple combination of five words, but it made Arya feel panicky and confused, so she ignored it, leaving the text unanswered. She couldn’t deal with any of it right now, the texts or the talking or the emotions. She needed a real distraction.

She was going to get up, run until she collasped, and pretend this whole stupid thing wasn’t happening for as long as she possibly could.

***

Gendry, like everyone else who had crashed at the house after Pyp’s party, was having a bit of a rough morning.

There were, of course, the usual side effects of a night spent abusing alcohol, but today Gendy had to contend with the added torment of emotional turmoil. Namely that he had finally kissed the girl he’d been obsessed with since he met her, and said girl’s brother (who, of course, was also his roommate) had walked in on their rather graphic make out session.

It did tend to make things awkward. 

Gendry wasn’t sure of the exact protocol in this scenario. Apologize? Ask for forgiveness? Pretend it never happened? Jon had said that he didn’t want to hear about anything going on between them, but to be perfectly honest, Gendry had no idea where he stood with Arya. 

Secretly, of course, he hoped she wanted to kiss him again.

 He wasn’t so crazy to think she might; they’d been bickering in a distinctly flirtatious way for weeks, and last night had certainly been mutual. He remembered the way she had confidently pressed him against the wall, the little gasp she had let out when his thumb brushed over her nipple through that flimsy fabric. She had wanted it too.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Gendry quickly turned his thoughts away from Arya and any little gasps she might have made. Jon was there at the counter, and Gendry felt as though even thinking about Arya like that in his presence broke some kind of unspoken rule. 

At least Sansa, Pyp, and Theon were there too, forming a buffer of sorts as they sat at the table in various states of dishevelment, all sipping coffee like it was their lifeblood. Pyp was griping about how the party had gone, while Sansa and Theon, who must have crashed in the living room after their staged revolution, only just managed to humor him. 

“All I’m saying is that I made it very clear that this was live, participatory theater, and if people weren’t going to take that seriously, they shouldn’t have come,” Pyp insisted sullenly. 

Sansa scoffed. “You can’t just force people to be literal servants all night. That’s not acting, it’s _work_.”

Pyp opened his mouth to object, then closed it, apparently thinking better of whatever it was that he had planned to say. He stewed in silence instead, frowning before raising his mug to his lips.

Hoping to avoid any interaction with Jon, or anyone else, for that matter, Gendry quietly retrieved a mug and helped himself to the pot left out by the stove. He tried to dart back out of the room, but Gendry wasn’t good at darting on the best of days, and accidentally caught Sansa’s eye. 

She gave Gendry a weak smile over her phone. “Morning. You as hungover as the rest of us?”

Gendry was so out of it that he stared at her blankly, before suddenly remembering that she was waiting for him to answer her question. He cleared his throat. “Oh! Yeah. I mean, if you guys also feel like you’re on the brink of death, then sure.” 

Pyp laughed bitterly. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate,” he commented dryly, while Gendry slid down into the chair across from him, fearing that trying to leave the kitchen would be too awkward at this point.

Sansa took a long sip of her coffee before nodding solemnly. “I was just texting Arya about it, and she said pretty much the same thing.”

She was texting Arya? Gendry momentarily worried about how much of the night’s exploits Arya had divulged to her sister. Probably not a whole lot, since Sansa seemed like the type to bring it up in front of everyone if she knew, and she hadn’t said anything to even hint as much yet.

 He wondered, if she did know, what Sansa would think of him and Arya together. She seemed more likely to support it than Jon, but Gendry would have felt just as awkward if she had been the one who interrupted them. 

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Jon finally turned around from mixing the batter, prompting Gendry to suddenly become intensely interested in his coffee. He knew he’d have to have a conversation with Jon at some point, but he sure as hell wasn’t ready to do it just yet.

“Anyone want to help with spatula duty?” Jon asked. Gendry wished he could see what kind of expression Jon wore, but his own eyes were firmly fixed on a knot in the wood table, and he was far too cowardly to risk looking up.

Sighing, Pyp stood. “I’ll do it.” 

Theon still sat motionless, possibly having fallen asleep sitting up, while Sansa seemed preoccupied with texting someone, Arya again, probably. Even thinking about her left Gendry with a weird fluttering in his chest.

No one spoke for a few minutes, the sound of batter hissing against the griddle the only thing to punctuate the silence. Gendry thought he preferred things that way. It was peaceful, and actually less awkward than trying to make small talk.

Unfortunately, Sansa piped up again, her eyes lit up with desperate curiosity. “Jon, why can’t Arya face you? What happened last night?”

Gendry nearly choked on his coffee. He hoped the coughing fit would serve as a cover for the reason his face had turned bright red. Gods, why did this kind of thing always happen to him? Couldn’t he just have one mildly awkward cup of coffee before fleeing from the house? 

From the look on his face, Jon seemed to be thinking something similar. He squirmed uncomfortably, sidestepping the question. “Who wants the first pancake?” 

Sansa looked wildly between Gendry and her brother, narrowing her eyes as Jon continued to avoid eye contact, and Gendry attempted to recover from the coffee he had inhaled. She opened her mouth slowly, about to continue the questioning, but Gendry interjected before she could speak.

“I’ll take the first pancake,” he said quickly, his voice still weak from breathing in his drink. Jon looked grateful for a moment, briefly forming an alliance with Gendry over their mutual goal to distract Sansa, but he winced setting down the pancake, probably remembering why the distraction was necessary to begin with.

 “Thanks,” Gendry said awkwardly, in a half hearted attempt to pretend everything was normal. 

“No problem.” Jon gave him a small, stiff nod, and Sansa looked on with rapt attention. Gendry could practically see the gears in her head turning, which was never a good sign when it came to these sorts of things. He didn’t know Sansa well, but she seemed perceptive; sharper than Arya even, who could be a bit more clueless about interpersonal subtleties, preferring to lock people in a room together over other more reasonable set ups.

Though to be fair, Sansa seemed as unaware as ever about Theon’s feelings for her, so perhaps she had her blind spots as well.

Gendry took a hesitant bite of pancake before pulling out his phone. Arya didn’t want to face her brother, but she hadn’t expressed concern about seeing anyone else. And they were going to have to address what happened sooner or later, so he might as well bring it up now, when he was already deeply uncomfortable.

**Gendry:** Hey, we should probably talk about last night

It felt like he waited an eternity, as three dots popped up, lingered, and then disappeared.

Fair enough. It was kind of a loaded question, and he realized it was probably better to meet in person anyway. He sent another text.

**Gendry:** Can we meet up? I want to see you

He stared at his phone through another two pancakes, but no reply ever came.

***

Arya ran until she couldn’t breathe anymore, but it wasn’t working. Even with her lungs burning and legs aching, she couldn’t figure out how to stop obsessing over how completely fucked everything was, on every possible level.

Because Gendry was her friend. Thick and insufferable at times, but several shades less so than most people that Arya encountered, and surprisingly funny and clever sometimes. 

She liked him for it. It seemed an odd thing to have trouble admitting, but there were few people Arya was willing to say she liked having around, and Gendry was one of them. She liked him, and she liked hanging out with him. She liked teasing him and getting teased back, and she liked driving him crazy with hare brained schemes to set people up.

But once you kissed someone, you couldn’t just say you were friends anymore—instead, it all started to get squishy and confusing and weird. It was new and treacherous territory, and Arya didn’t want to venture into it. She just wanted things to stay the way they were, but she didn’t even know if that was possible anymore.

And then there was the weirdness with Jon. She _never_ had fights or awkward moments with him. Ever. Not even once that she could remember. 

They had always gotten along, always understood each other perfectly. And last night…they just hadn’t. She and Jon were older and different now, and usually that was fine, but they’d been reminded of it in such a jarring way. 

She hated that. She didn’t want to be reminded, and she didn’t want Jon to look at her differently than he always had. 

Why did everything have to change?

It was unfair, she decided, finally having regained her breath. It was unfair, and she had no idea how to fix things.

Arya tried to imagine what Sansa would do. She was always the more sensible out of the pair of them, and if she wasn’t so annoyingly fixated on meddling in Arya’s love life, Arya would have already asked her for advice.

Besides insisting that she talk to Gendry, Arya guessed that her sister would offer to make some tea, and, out of the two options, tea sounded much more appealing at the moment. Arya wasn’t too far from Iron-brewed. With any luck, Yara would be there to give her a free croissant with the cup of tea.

***

Thankfully, Yara was, in fact, behind the counter when Arya arrived.

"Whatever you want is on the house," she said generously. "I just want to know how things are going with my idiot brother and your sister."

Normally, Arya would have happily indulged Yara in a long conversation about Theon and Sansa's awkward courtship, but she wasn't in the mood, and kept everything down to simple bullet points.

"They wrote a communist manifesto and passed out drunk on the floor," she offered, unsure if it counted as an update in their relationship status.

Yara raised her eyebrows in amusement. "That's very romantic of them." 

"There's nothing quite as intimate as being stupid and sloppy drunk with a friend," Arya added, regretting her word choice almost instantly. It sounded too close to her own experience at Pyp's party, though it wasn't as if Yara would know about that.

She didn't seem to pick up on Arya's discomfort even, or was pointedly ignoring it."Can't argue with you on that," she replied with a wry smile. "What'll it be today?"

Arya opened her mouth to speak, but when she saw someone absurdly tall and dark haired enter the shop, she couldn't help but turn around. 

Of fucking course it was Gendry.

She froze, half hoping to avoid his eye and half seeking it out. He looked just as much a wreck as she did, back to his usual jeans and an ugly shirt combination, with dark circles under his eyes and a surly look on his face. There were other things Arya noticed now too, that she didn’t think she had before--the curve of his jaw, the startling blue of his irises, his thick, untamable hair. For a fleeting moment, Arya wished she could kiss him again, but that was ridiculous. 

Like the obtuse idiot he was, it took a moment before Gendry noticed her staring at him, even as she stood right in front of him. 

It was hard to place the emotions that flashed across his face in short succession, but finally Gendry met her gaze with shock and maybe a bit of hurt. “Hi,” he said dumbly. “I didn’t know—I mean, you didn’t respond—”

Arya bit her lip and nodded, wincing a little as he spoke. “Yeah I just—I was going to, but I didn’t know what to say and—”

It was his turn to interrupt. “No, it’s fine,” he assured her, in a tone of voice that painfully conveyed how very not fine it was. He cleared his throat. “D’you want to talk now, or…?”

“Yeah,” Arya said, maybe too quickly. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to, but she couldn’t exactly turn him down now. “We could just sit over there, I guess?” She pointed to the armchairs in the corner that they usually camped out at, back when things had been normal.

Gendry didn’t seem to have any objections, following Arya over when she started to walk. Neither of them had actually bought anything yet, she realized, and Yara probably thought that she was acting strange. She didn't have the energy to care at the moment, though, and proceeded to sit down both tea-less and croissant-less.

She settled in opposite Gendry, fidgeting uncomfortably. It almost seemed stupid, to maintain such a formal distance after the way their bodies had fit against each other so easily the night before. They were too familiar with one another to pretend like keeping a few feet of space between them mattered.

Neither spoke for a while, each waiting for the other to say something, until, finally, Arya couldn’t handle the tension.

“So,” she started, her words slow and deliberate. “We kissed.”

“We did,” Gendry agreed warily. Then, unexpectedly, “You’re a good kisser.” He seemed to almost immediately wish that he hadn’t said that bit out loud.

He was such an idiot sometimes. A nice idiot, though, and Arya felt her mouth curve into a small smile. “So are you.”

Gendry visibly relaxed at that, and Arya felt relief wash over her when he suddenly seemed more normal, the angles of his face softening into familiar patterns. “What are your thoughts,” he began hesitantly, “On doing it again?”

Arya felt heat creep into her face, overwhelmed by the sudden sense that she was teetering over a precipice. Her whole body seemed to be urging her forward, because she _did_ want to do it again, she wanted it as badly as she had ever wanted something in her life, but she also knew if she jumped that there would be no coming back. If she said what she wanted to, there would be no more platonic friendship to retreat to, nothing to tether their relationship to something that Arya felt comfortably in control of.

The thought of jumping terrified her.

“Probably shouldn’t,” Arya managed to get out, pulling back as hard and fast as she could. “Just—you know, we were drunk.” She floundered for another excuse. “I think we just got carried away with the whole ‘secret lovers’ thing.”

Gendry winced, and Arya could see the hurt flash across his face. “Right,” he agreed, his features hardening. “It was just the alcohol.” 

Arya nodded, though they both knew it wasn’t. “A nothing kiss,” she added cruelly.

Gendry flinched. “Sure.”

They lapsed into silence. Gendry clearly had nothing else to say, his expression stony and impassive.

“We’re still friends though, right?” Arya asked, her stomach churning with guilt. That was the whole reason she’d pulled back, to preserve the friendship.

Gendry’s mouth twisted into something she thought was supposed to be a smile, though it seemed pained and wrong. “Yeah, we’re still friends,” he replied.

It sounded hollow and false when he said it, and Arya knew it wasn’t true.

“Gendry, I—”

He interrupted, standing abruptly. “You know, I just remembered that I have to go.”

“Oh.” She looked at him dumbly, feeling terrible. 

“See you around, Arya,” he said, and she could tell that he didn’t mean it. There was no warmth or sincerity in his words, no gentle mockery or teasing lilt. He was just...cold and unhappy.

“Bye,” she replied weakly, but he was already turning and leaving without a second glance in her direction. 

_Shit._ How had she managed to screw everything up even more than before? He hated her, and Arya couldn’t say that she completely blamed him, though somehow knowing that his anger was justified made her feel even worse. It was all her fault, and she was still letting the mistake happen, like some cowardly, stupid mouse. 

For the first time in years, Arya felt hot tears prick her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up at bogmanfics on tumblr! i'm working on some moodboards and playlists for this fic, if ya wanna check that out :)


	11. In Which Theon is Surprisingly Insightful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> managed to squeeze one more in before summer ends!! can't believe i'm driving out to college tomorrow ack
> 
> much thanks to thelandofnothing and yanak324 for being my personal cheerleading squad and motivating me to work on this. you guys are the best :)

Sansa walked home from the library practically giddy with relief. 

In a rare burst of productivity, she had managed to get almost all of her work done, and the weekend stretched long and empty ahead of her. She had absolutely nothing she had to do this Friday night—no papers to write, no sisters to deal with, no parties to make an appearance at. Sansa rarely found herself with the luxury of purely unstructured alone time, and she always forgot how nice it could be. Not that she wanted it _all_ the time—Sansa liked being around people too much for that—but every once in a while a little solitude felt lovely.

She could take a hot bath, finally get around to reading one of the books that had been sitting on her shelf for months, maybe even bake a batch of lemon cakes. She was fairly certain she had all the ingredients in the house. If not, there were plenty of other things she could bake. Chocolate chip cookies were always a good bet…

“Sansa!” A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, and Sansa turned to see Theon waving at her like a maniac, half running down the street to catch up with her. His backpack was open, and Sansa cringed as she watched folders and loose papers bob up and down ominously.

“Theon, your bag-” she started to warn him, but before she could finish, gravity took control of the situation, and pages and pages of scribbled notes and half complete problem sets fluttered out onto the sidewalk.

“Is open,” she finished lamely, staring at the wreckage. Theon cursed under his breath.

“That’s the second time this week,” he moaned. He looked down at the chaos glumly, and seemed as if he wasn’t planning on picking up any of his things at all.

Sansa shook her head, clucking like a mother hen. “You have to pay more attention when you’re packing up your stuff,” she scolded, and crouched down to grab the highlighter that had rolled towards her. It didn’t have a cap on it, and probably hadn’t worked in months, but for some reason Theon had been carrying it around still.

“I do pay attention!” he insisted, squatting down next to her and shoving several sheets of loose leaf back into his bag in a rather unceremonious fashion. “There’s just a lot of things to keep track of.”

_A lot of things that most people learned to keep track of around the age of six_ , Sansa thought to herself, but she bit her tongue. There was no point in making him feel bad about it, not when the damage was already done. He meant well, he really did.

Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she noticed a scrap of paper with her name on it, carefully written out as neatly as she thought she’d ever seen Theon’s handwriting.

“What’s that?” she asked, reaching out to take a closer look. It must have been important if Theon had taken so much care with his penmanship, and she wasn’t sure why he’d be writing down her name in the first place. It wasn’t as if they had any classes together, or exchanged messages with each other on paper.

Theon tried to snatch it away before she could read it, and Sansa frowned at him as she pulled it out back out of his reach. “Didn’t they teach you not to grab in elementary school?”

Theon ignored the question. “You don’t have to read it,” he said, looking a little panicky. “It’s not important.”

“If it’s not important, why are you trying to grab it from me?” she countered, eyebrows raised.

Theon fumbled for an acceptable response, but Sansa continued before he could justify himself. “And why does it have my name on it?”

“What?” Theon asked, as if her observation was preposterous. He laughed nervously. “No it doesn’t. I don’t even know how to spell your name, why-”

Sansa interrupted him. “Of course you know how to spell my name,” she insisted crossly. “Stop making up terrible excuses.”

With a dramatic flourish, she unfolded the crumpled loose leaf. It was practically illegible, typical for Theon’s writing, and smudged ink had only made it worse. Sansa squinted in an attempt to decipher the four lines scrawled near the top.

“Your snail—wait, no, your smile—lights up the room. Makes my… heart go boom boom?” Sansa stopped narrating to look up at a stricken Theon, whose face seemed to have turned an interesting shade of red. “Theon, what is this?” she asked, as gently as she could.

“Nothing!” he repeated stubbornly, holding out his hand with the apparent hope that Sansa would just hand it back over, without even reading the last two lines. “Here, let me just…” he leaned forward a bit to grab it, and Sansa tried to jerk her hand away. 

Theon was slightly faster though, and he snatched the paper back with the kind of intensity that only very desperate people possess. Sansa’s mouth fell open in indignant surprise. “Theon! What the hell?” 

Before she could do much more to protest than scold him, he shoved the note deep into the recesses of his blue jansport. Sansa let out an irritated scoff, and reached for the bag. “Give it!” she demanded, leaning forward and grabbing hold of the left strap. “I want to see the paper!”

“No! It’s not important!” Theon insisted, trying to pull the backpack out of her range. 

They must have looked ridiculous to any passersby, bickering and tugging at an ugly old backpack as they squatted in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by loose papers. Sansa was incredibly aware of how foolish she was acting, but simultaneously couldn’t seem to help herself. Finishing Theon’s odd little note to her took precedence.

She tried her best to retrieve it, but in the end Theon yanked so hard that he pitched backwards onto the sidewalk when she let go of the backpack. He lay there for a moment, clutching the bag to his chest like a teddy bear, seemingly concerned that Sansa might try and take it back at any moment.

Fortunately for him, Sansa’s senses had finally returned to her, and she blew a stray strand of hair out of her face as she looked down at the scene they had caused. Gods, what was she doing? She was acting like she was _five._ First a communist manifesto, and now she was brawling on the street. Theon was a terrible influence on her.

A cute terrible influence, though.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing slightly. “Didn’t mean to attack you like that.” Sansa offered a hand to her fallen friend, and Theon eyed her suspiciously for a moment before he took it. Sansa pulled him up to a sitting position.

“S’ok,” he said, surprisingly cheerful as he brushed the dirt off himself. “It was kinda funny.”

Sansa felt the corner of her mouth quirk up. “It kinda was,” she agreed, letting out a little laugh at herself. “You don’t need to show me the paper, by the way.” Theon was allowed his privacy, just like anyone else. Sansa had just gotten carried away with the possible endings to the note. For a moment, she had thought it was some sort of love letter, but that was just a silly fantasy. Theon didn’t even like her that way, much less write letters for her. It was just a stupid joke or something.

“I’ll show it to you at some point,” he said firmly, like it was a promise to himself as much as it was to her.

“I look forward to it,” Sansa said courteously, in an attempt to regain a bit of her lost dignity. Theon grinned, and Sansa couldn’t help but return it. His smile was always infectious. It was so sincere, blindly optimistic in the face of all the bad luck he seemed to bring on himself, and Sansa was sorely tempted to grab his face and kiss him soundly.

She didn’t, though. She still had that much self restraint. Instead, Sansa gestured to all the remaining papers. “We should finish cleaning up.” She paused, furrowing her brow as she looked at her friend. “Where were you headed before you ran into me?”

“Your place,” Theon offered apologetically. “Yara wants to make Margaery dinner, and she exiled me for the night. I was hoping we could just hang out.”

Sansa considered the bath and lemon cakes she’d been planning on occupying herself with, a quiet night by herself suddenly seeming far less appealing. Really, when it came down to it, baths were overrated, and not even that hygienic. And lemon cakes could be made just as well by two people as they could by one.

“I’d love that,” she said brightly. “Want to help me bake something?”

“Am I allowed to?” Theon inquired. “Y’know, after the…incident,” he added, wincing slightly at the memory.

Last time Theon had attempted to assist Sansa with her baking, he had forgotten to secure the top to her blender, and puréed strawberry had splattered over the entire kitchen. They’d both looked like Carrie covered in pigs’ blood at the prom, and Sansa was still finding bits of strawberry stuck to things months later.

Even so, she waved away his concern. “There’s no blending in this recipe. How badly could it get messed up, anyway?”

***

The answer to that question was _very badly_. Sansa normally considered herself a good baker, but the cakes they had made together were raw in some places and burned in others, and she was pretty sure they had added salt in place of sugar. Their creations were completely inedible, but at least there wasn’t any strawberry coating the ceiling, and Sansa counted that as a win.

She and Theon sat cross legged on her living room carpet, making themselves content with ice cream instead, talking about nothing in particular.

“I saw Arya during my shift today,” Theon mentioned casually. “She seemed to be in a particularly shit mood. Called me ‘a fucking idiot’ instead of just an idiot.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Arya’s been in a foul mood for almost a week now.” Ever since Pyp’s party, Arya had been incredibly tetchy about everything, and apparently wasn’t speaking to Jon. Or Gendry. Something weird had happened that night, and for the life of her Sansa could not pry it out of any of them. They were all stubborn and embarrassed and driving her mad.

It was one thing to be upset about a fight or whatever it was that had gone down, but it wasn’t fair to take it out on everyone else, especially when you refused to talk about it with anyone, which, coincidentally, was exactly what Arya was doing. If she’d just tell Sansa what was the matter, they could actually try and fix it.

Sansa had her suspicions about what had happened, of course. There was a more than decent chance that Arya and Gendry had hooked up, just like she had predicted, and that Arya was being stupid about it after the fact. That, she was hoping, would be resolved easily enough once her sister broke down and admitted her feelings for Gendry, which would probably happen in the next week or so. Arya always needed time to work through things, but she came around to the right conclusions in the end. That was just how she was.

But Sansa didn’t have a clue what had caused the rift with Jon, and that worried her far more than a misunderstanding with Gendry. Jon was the only person that Arya really never fought with, and the idea of them not getting along seemed inconceivable and terrifying. No wonder Arya was being so beastly with everyone else—if she was in a fight with her favorite brother, how could she not be in a fight with the entire world?

Sansa bit her lip. “I wish I knew how to get Arya and Jon to stop fighting, but I don’t even know what it’s about.”

“It’s not your job to solve your siblings’ problems,” Theon said gently, giving her a pointed look.

Sansa knew that, really she did, but there was a small part of her that couldn’t shake the feeling that it really was her responsibility. Her level headed diplomacy had resolved many a Stark family feud, and if she hadn’t intervened there was no telling how long the various grudges would have gone on being held. It was a thankless job, but Sansa thought getting the involved parties to make up was reward enough.

“I don’t mind doing it,” she insisted. 

“Bullshit,” Theon said, more forcefully than Sansa expected. “You’re always taking on extra responsibilities Sans, and no one ever gives you proper credit.”

Sansa bristled. “I mean, it’s a little annoying,” she admitted. “But it’s not like I do it because I’m _looking_ for proper credit.”

“Well, of course you’re not,” he replied, as if that much were obvious. “You’re like, the nicest person I know. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get noticed for it.”

Sansa flushed slightly at his compliment as he continued. “This is me, noticing you for it, by the way,” he clarified. “Because you’re crazy nice and smart and cool, and I’m honestly surprised you want to hang out with me all the time.” Sansa’s mouth widened into an easy grin, and she had to remind herself that he didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to mean it. It was just the sort of thing you told an old friend that you cared about.

Still, Sansa couldn’t stop her heart from hammering in her chest.

She gave him a stern look. “Don’t sell yourself short, Theon Greyjoy. You let everyone write you off as a ditz, but you’re not. You’re incredibly smart and funny and kind, and it makes complete sense that I’d want to hang out with you.”

 She met his eyes, slightly widened in surprise, and for a moment Sansa swore he was leaning in to kiss her.

Then his phone started ringing.

“Shit!” Theon cursed, looking down at the name that had popped up on his screen. “It’s Yara. I should probably talk to her.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sansa replied, waving away his concern and trying to hide her disappointment. Her cheeks felt hot, and she hoped she wasn’t as red as she thought she was. It was stupid to have thought anything was going on, they were just friends and Sansa had made peace with that. Really, she had.

She busied herself with another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream, while Theon pressed his phone to his ear impatiently. “ _What,_ Yara?” he asked in the exasperated tone that was universally reserved for irritating siblings. 

After a series of annoyed “mhmm”s  and “yeah, whatever”s, Theon ended the call.

“She and Margaery have decided to extend my exile,” he said, sighing. “Any chance I can crash here?”

“Sofa’s there for a reason,” Sansa said, plastering on a smile. 

Theon grinned appreciatively. “Thanks Sans. You’re the best.”

“Of course I am,” she replied breezily. “Let me just pull out the extra sheets.”

Sansa tried not to think about how much she would have preferred letting Theon stay in her bed.

***

“D’you think we need another slide on how to identify Valyrian steel?” Hot Pie asked, peering over the top of his laptop to address Arya. The two had met up for their project about two hours ago, and Arya was impatient to just finish it up and leave. She didn’t want to be in the library, and she didn’t want to be thinking about school work. All she really wanted to do was wallow in her misery back at the flat.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” she said, scowling. “This whole project is stupid.”

Hot Pie frowned. “No it’s not. You love this stuff, Arya.”

Normally, he was right. But at the current moment, Arya wasn’t able to muster much enthusiasm for anything that she normally enjoyed. Her whole personal life was a wreck, and it was entirely her own fault. 

She still wasn’t talking to Jon, even though he’d sent her about a million texts and even came round to the flat once or twice to talk to her. The tiny nugget of shame and embarrassment that had taken root in her after the party had only grown heavier since she’d turned Gendry down, and the thought of facing her brother seemed completely unmanageable at the moment. She’d been doing her best to avoid him all week.

Ironically, despite desperately wanting to talk to Gendry, he was doing pretty much the same thing she was doing to Jon, and she hadn’t seen him since their weird quasi-fight at Iron-Brewed. She was estranged from two of her favorite people, and Arya thought that her foul mood was at least a little justified. 

She shouldn’t have taken it out on Hot Pie though, and Arya felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over her.

 “Sorry,” she said, her tone softening. “I’ve just had a lot of shit going on recently. Wasn’t fair to be rude to you because of it.”

Hot Pie dipped his head in acknowledgement, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. From the expression on his face, he was clearly hoping that Arya wouldn’t take him up on the offer, and she felt the corner of her mouth quirk up into a little half smile. 

“S’alright,” she promised. “Thanks for asking anyway.” She hadn’t told anyone about what was happening, not even Shireen or Sansa, and as much as she liked Hot Pie, she certainly wasn’t going to pick him as the first one to fill in on her clusterfuck of a predicament.

“Do you want to finish this up another time?” he asked hesitantly. 

Arya felt her whole body sigh in relief. “Yeah, that would be great, actually,” she replied. “Really sorry to be making an ass of myself like this.”

“You’re not making an ass out of yourself,” Hot Pie assured her. Arya appreciated the lie.

“I’ll text you about a time to finish it up?” Arya asked, already beginning to pack up her stuff. Hot Pie nodded, and Arya waved a quick goodbye before hightailing it out of the library. She felt a little bad for leaving so suddenly, but on top of all her other, more painful emotions, the guilt wasn’t so bad.

She had a good several hours to kill before her weekly dinner with Sansa, which was sure to become an extended interrogation session into whatever was upsetting her so much. Arya knew that Sansa meant well, but sometimes she couldn’t stand her sister’s constant machinations to fix everything. You couldn’t just tell Sansa something, especially not something as gossip-worthy as a hookup, and not expect her to immediately start plotting some set up or reconciliation that you never asked for help with.

Arya would have much preferred to stay home and blow it off, but that probably would have worried Sansa even more, and made the next time they spoke infinitely more painful. It was definitely better to just suck it up for one night, rather than delay the inevitable.

In the meantime though, Arya needed some caffeine. Theoretically, Sansa was funding her latte habits for the month, but since Arya was already in store for a painful night, she decided she’d rather just go to Iron-brewed on her own.

***

Theon was behind the counter, scribbling something on a scrap of paper with intense ferocity. Arya walked right in front of him yet he didn’t seem to notice her, so she took the liberty of slamming her hand on the bell by the register. The younger Greyjoy jumped close to a foot in the air, his surprise turning to annoyance when he noticed that Arya was responsible.

“I should report you to your manager for not being attentive on the job,” she informed him, ringing the bell once more for good measure.

“What do you want?” Theon grumbled. “Here to call me a fucking idiot again?”

“No, actually,” Arya said, having the grace to at least look a little ashamed. “I’m not. And I’m sorry about that. Just…been in a bad mood recently.”

“Sansa says she thinks that you and Gendry hooked up and then mucked it up,” Theon replied casually. “That true?”

“ _No,”_ Arya said vehemently, and the barista’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re a worse liar than me, and that’s saying something,” he remarked, trying to hide a smirk.

“I am not!”

Theon shook his head, making an infuriating _tsk tsk_ sound as he did so. “Don’t know how you managed to get through any conversations with Sansa without her immediately prying a confession out of you.”

“Sansa’s not as good as prying out confessions as she thinks she is,” Arya sniffed. Her sister may have been skilled at getting people to reveal their secrets, but Arya was even better at being cryptic.

“So you admit there’s something to confess?” Or maybe she was pretty shit at being cryptic. Theon had caught her and he knew it, smirking in an impossibly smug way. Arya scowled in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he replied, clearly enjoying this rare opportunity to wind Arya up. She restrained herself from following the impulse to give him a nice, sound kick in the shins.

“I’m not admitting _anything,_ ” Arya reiterated, speaking through clenched teeth.

Softly, Theon began singing. “Arya and Gendry, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—”

Bristling, Arya interrupted him. “Are you five? No one sings that stupid song anymore.” 

“They should,” Theon said casually, and resumed the tune, unbothered. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the—”

“Alright!” Arya interrupted, eager to stop the song. “I made out with Gendry, and Jon saw, and I told Gendry I just wanted to be friends, and now he hates me and everything’s fucked. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?” she demanded, breathless and red and furious.

Theon’s eyes went wide, and he looked almost as shocked by Arya’s sudden outburst as she felt. She hadn’t meant to tell him. It had just slipped out, tumbling off her tongue before she even knew what had happened. And with _Theon_ , of all people. She didn’t even _like_ Theon that much. 

All the same, she felt strangely relieved to finally let the words hang in the open air. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d wanted to tell someone until she did it.

“He got mad because you just wanted to be friends?” Theon asked, frowning as he recovered from his initial shock. “That’s a dick move.”

“No that’s not—” Arya paused for a minute to collect her thoughts. “It was a lot more complicated than that. I was lying, about wanting to be friends, and—” she cut herself off, taking a moment to stare at Theon in confusion. “Why am I even telling you all this?”

Theon shrugged, unfazed by everything she had dumped on him. “People tell me I have a trustworthy face.” He gestured for her to continue. “Please, keep going.”

Arya bit her lip. She’d already spilled most of the secret to him, and she’d be lying if she said telling Theon didn’t feel at least a little therapeutic. There needed to be some conditions, though, to ensure the secret stayed between the two of them.

“You can’t tell Sansa,” she decided, looking Theon straight in the eye. He nodded, but Arya needed to hear him say it. “You have to _swear_ it,” she insisted.

Theon sighed. “I swear not to tell your sister anything you’re telling me.”

“You have to _mean_ it,” she pressed, jaw jutted out stubbornly.

Surprisingly, Theon humored her without any more smug commentary. “I swear on your sister’s grave that I won’t tell her,” he promised, solemnly meeting Arya’s eye.

She nodded, satisfied. “Right. So. Where was I?”

“Explaining how you lied about something,” Theon offered, leaning against the counter on his elbows as he appraised her with a measured gaze. It was slightly bewildering to have a conversation with him where he was the reasonable one and she was the one whose life was a complete disaster, and Arya wasn’t sure what to think of this new dynamic.

Trying to maintain at least a little dignity, she nodded stiffly, steeling herself for the unbearable ordeal of explaining how she felt. “I told Gendry I only kissed him because I was drunk, but that was...completely untrue.”

Theon eyed her curiously. “Why’d you lie?”

“So we could stay friends,” Arya explained, her voice strained. “I thought it’d be better.”

“Did it work?” he asked stupidly. That was the Theon that Arya was familiar with.

She rolled her eyes. “No, you moron. If it had I’d still be talking to him, not spilling my guts out to you like an idiot.”

She was unprepared for the sudden flash of hurt that crossed Theon’s face, and immediately felt guilty for snapping. He really was only trying to help. 

“Sorry. You’re not a moron,” she amended, hoping that she sounded sincere. It wasn’t a sentiment she was used to conveying, especially with Theon.

He seemed to appreciate her efforts. “And you’re not an idiot,” he replied generously. “Only acting like one.” He stopped to give Arya a curious look, smiling slightly when he spoke. “You do realize that these are very easily solved problems, right? Just have an awkward chat with Jon and move past it, tell Gendry that you lied. Done and done.”

Arya scoffed. “It’s not that simple.” She gave him a pointed glance. “And how can you even say that when you’ve been in love with Sansa for years and haven’t said anything?”

Theon shrugged. “Never said I wasn’t _also_ acting like an idiot,” he clarified with a wry smile. “Just be brave and say your piece.”

Arya bit her lip. “But that’s so embarrassing,” she moaned, leaning on the counter with her face down in her arms. “I can’t do it. I’ll die of mortification.”

It was Theon’s turn to scoff at her. “Listen Arya, don’t complain to me about something being embarrassing until you too have had to explain to every person who asked why it looked like you lost a fight with a tree that you did, in fact, lose a fight with a tree while attempting to retrieve a flying squirrel that you bought off your psycho uncle as the first step in a revolutionary squirrel mail service.”

Arya looked up at Theon. “You did do that, didn’t you? That was funny.” She shifted back into a normal standing position, straightening her back and eyeing Theon curiously. “But I think your embarrassing story is helping motivate me. Tell me another one.”

Theon glanced up at the ceiling in concentration, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Hmmm, let’s see…” he mused. Finally, with a stroke of inspiration, his eyes turned wide as he looked back at Arya. “Oh! So just yesterday, I spilled the entire contents of my backpack on the street, which is...already pretty embarrassing.”

“And already pretty typical for you,” Arya added. 

Theon nodded without a hint of shame. “Yup! But this time it was in front of Sansa, so it was more embarrassing, and then it quickly got much worse.”

Arya raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Theon winced. “I may or may not have been drafting a poem for her, and it may or may not have been one of the papers that fell onto the ground.”

Listening to Theon talk about his life was a bit like watching a train wreck in slow motion—captivating but painful—and she cringed on his behalf. “Oh no. I’m guessing she read it?”

He nodded gravely in response. “Not the whole thing, but it was still pretty bad.”

“I can imagine,” Arya replied, suppressing the snide comments she was so tempted to say. Theon was being oddly helpful, and she wasn’t so monstrous to mock him now. She was, however, incredibly curious about the contents of any love poem he had written. “Can I read it?”

“Sure, I was just trying to finish it,” he said, cheerfully handing over the paper he’d been writing on before Arya arrived. “It’s still horrendous, though.”

Arya took it and stared at the nearly illegible words for a solid minute before she was able to decipher Theon’s hieroglyphic-like writing. 

_Sansa_

_Your smile lights up the room_

_Makes my heart go boom boom_

_Probably will be my doom_

_And then I’ll keep loving you from the tomb_

“This is somehow worse than I expected,” Arya remarked, unable to stop herself from laughing as she handed back the paper. “What on earth compelled you to write this?”

Theon threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “Who knows? I am but a 13 year old girl, and god is a Wattpad writer selling me to One Direction. My actions are not my own.”

Arya furrowed her brow. “Weird analogy, but go off I guess.”

Theon gave her a firm nod. “Thanks. I will go off.” As an afterthought, he looked at her with a softer expression. “Did reading the whole, horrible thing help motivate you or whatever?”

Arya smiled at him, not smirking or mocking at all. “It did. Thanks for that.”

Theon grinned. “Of course. Always happy to make a fool of myself for the purposes of inspiring others.”

Arya looked him over with a half smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, feeling surprisingly affectionate. “You’re pretty cool sometimes, Theon. You should tell Sansa how you feel.”

For a moment he looked taken aback, but then quickly broke into a broad grin. “You’re not too terrible yourself. Go kiss Gendry in a tree or something.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Just because I told you that you’re cool doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate your terrible jokes.”

“That was a good one!” Theon protested.

Arya scoffed. “It really wasn’t.”

“Some people can’t understand comedy,” Theon grumbled, giving her a pointed glance.

“And you’re one of them?” Arya inquired innocently.

“No, I was talking about _you_ , not—” Theon interrupted himself. “You know what? Just be quiet and let me make your latte in peace.”

Arya only grinned at him in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my tumblr, bogmanfics! (if ya like)


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